Indiana Jones and the Adventure of Mystic's Cave
by ThinkingLady-Marethiel
Summary: Set Post-KotCS, this story takes the Jones family on an adventure delving into parapsychology, espionage and ancient mystical ritual. Chapter 6: The watcher gets watched; the confined learns freedom! On vacation until Oct 1, limited e-mail. R&R, please!
1. Chapter 1

_**Indiana Jones and the Adventure of Mystic's Cave (w.t.)**_

**Setting**: July, 1958, post KoTCS

**Characters**: Indy/Marion/Mutt, probably Oxley and a couple of new OCs, applicable to this story; possibility of some recurring OCs as well; the return of some old friends; I'm not yet sure. Like Indy, "I'm making this up as I go along." In that same vein, I apologize for leaving this as a w.t., working title. It may change as the story progresses.

**Rating**: T (for language, and a little – _ahem_! – marital aerobics!)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Indiana Jones, Marion, Mutt, Oxley or any of the characters and characterizations notable to the Indiana Jones franchise, and have no desire to commit copyright infringement. However, any original characters and the storyline itself ARE mine.** :-) ****Please consider the MacGuffin for this story copyrighted.**

**Acknowledgement:** Many thanks to my beta. You know who you are. :-) I appreciate your wit, your wisdom and your hilarious asides popped into your proofs... they brighten my day. Much love and thanks.

**Description**: Lots of adjustments in the Jones household: Mutt's contemplating his future; Marion's wondering when she'll see her feet again; and Indy's trying to decide how old is too old! Mix that in with a new adventure that takes us to the realm of parapsychology, espionage and an enemy right in our own backyard.

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CHAPTER ONE

It was so quiet. So blissfully, peacefully quiet.

No rock and roll blasting from a record player at a decibel level designed to blow out the human eardrum. No revving of a Harley-Davidson engine outside the bedroom window. No television on in the living room with the volume cranked to the top level, because, after all, a teenager can't be expected to wash supper dishes in the kitchen without SOME distraction! No yelling from upstairs down to the first floor, or vice versa. No slamming of doors. No pounding of motorcycle boots up and down the stairs. And all because the usual source of said noise was likely still out cold, sound asleep, in the bedroom next door. After all, it was seven o'clock on a blissfully sleepy Connecticut Saturday morning in July; nobody had to get up for anything just yet.

The room was warm, but not yet oppressive, though the temperature now, while still so early in the morning, promised that by noon it would be nearly 90 degrees, if not higher. Dr. Henry Walton "Indiana" Jones Jr. sighed contentedly and turned onto his side, sliding up behind his wife and nuzzling tenderly the nape of her neck, burying his nose in her long brown hair and breathing in the fresh, clean scent of her. It wasn't too hot yet to cuddle his wife, skin to skin. His arm came around her and gently cupped under her extended belly, tenderly stroking her soft skin. "Morning," he whispered into her ear.

"Mmmmm….." It was almost a purr.

As his arm lay across her, he smiled as he felt the rolling movement beneath his skin, beneath her skin, and marveled again at how remarkable human life was.

"Jones, so help me," muttered his wife, "if this kid is as active outside as he is inside, we're in deep trouble."

Indy chuckled, placing his hand over a particularly active little foot or fist as it pummeled its mother from the inside. "You keep saying 'he' like you're positive it's a boy. What if this is a girl?"

"I should be so lucky," Marion Ravenwood Williams Jones declared dryly. Then she chuckled. "That would be nice, though, I've got to admit. Seeing you two Neanderthals dealing with a little female would be fun to watch. You two think you can handle the big girls pretty well; I wonder how well you'd fare with the smaller variety?"

Indy grinned, but his smile faded as he saw Marion wince, arch a little and move a hand around behind her to rub her knuckle into her lower back. "Hurting?" he asked solicitously. "Want a rub?"

Marion sighed and smiled at him. "Nah, it's just old age, Jones, just old age." Marion kissed his gray-stubbled cheek. She deliberately played the age card with humor, since she knew that Indy's mind was troubled with having just turned 59 and now facing raising a new baby. While she knew he was happy and excited about the baby, he was also worried about having the stamina and youth to be a good father. She could understand that. Hell, she had her own fears. So did her doctor. He was a younger obstetrician who'd never had a patient nearly 50 ready to give birth in about eight weeks. He tried to hide it, but Dr. Ansell was getting as nervous and antsy about the pending delivery as her husband and son.

Indy kissed her mouth and then her freckled nose. He propped himself up on one elbow and gently flicked back the sheet, holding her hand back as she protested, wanting to cover her nakedness. "No," he said firmly, as his hands gently traced her pregnant form. "You have never, ever been more beautiful than you are right now, Marion. Never."

She gazed up at him, and then stroked his cheek. "I love you, Jones."

"Yeah, well, how could you not?" he teased her. He grew concerned when she winced again, and this time she chuckled at him.

"No, not pain, Indy, just a baby squatting on my bladder. Help me up." Laughing softly, he eased her up to a sitting position and then gazed as she leaned down and picked up the nightgown discarded last night before their spontaneous lovemaking, slipped it on, then rose and walked to the arm chair for her light robe. Indy marveled: heavy as she was with child, Marion still managed to look graceful. She turned back to him, glowing and just looking like a medieval Madonna, smiling with the knowledge that she was totally and completely female right now at this moment. "I'll put coffee on, all right?"

He nodded and watched her leave, shutting the door behind her. And heard her hammer on the bathroom door and order her son to "hurry up, there's a pregnant woman out here who needs to use the bathroom!"

He chuckled to himself and lay back, a hand behind his head as he gazed up at the ceiling fan over the bed. It was early July, and sure to be a hot one today. It felt good to know there really wasn't anything he absolutely had to do today. He couldn't remember a summer day like this in a long, long time; generally as soon as classes were out at the end of the spring semester, Indy was on his way to an archaeological dig somewhere in the world. Last year, it had been Mexico. He and his colleague, Bob Davis, had actually started the winter planning a return trip, since his participation had been sidelined by a run in with Russians, among other things… including finding out he had a teenager, defeating Communists, a "side trip" to Peru, and finally marrying the woman he'd loved more than any other for more than 30 years. And though he was very happy with his life right now (particularly since he'd finally managed to see Henry Walton "Mutt" Jones, III walk up and be handed his high school diploma, just a few weeks back) he still felt a little out of his element. His usual way of life was over, apparently. Wistfully, he thought of the wonderful evenings of going over the day's discoveries over a drink at the campfire … Those days were over…

_Enough, Jones!_ He scolded himself. _You're only 59, not 80, for God's sake! There'll be time for that again… and this time you can take Marion and the new little squirt along. The big one, too, if he's got any interest…_ He sighed as he rolled to a seated position and stretched. Indy got to his feet, and padded in bare feet – and bare everything else – toward his dresser across the room

There was a quick tattoo on the door and it immediately opened and a tall, slim figure with a perfect pompadour, tight jeans, a white t-shirt with rolled up sleeves, complete with a pack of cigarettes rolled in his left sleeve, and heavy engineer boots strode in. "Hey, Dad, can I bor- Aw, GEEZ!" Mutt whirled around, slamming the door, and flushing furiously. "For crying out loud, can't the two of you give it a _rest_ for one night?!"

Indy hastily snatched up his lightweight robe from the chair on his side of the bed and shrugged into it. "Let me educate you, kid," he snapped, his voice edged in frustration. "The purpose of a knock on the door is to request permission to enter, NOT to serve as an announcement! In general, people wait to barge in until they hear the words, 'Come in!' " Indy angrily tied the sash to his robe, and planted his hands on his hips. "Besides, neither your mother nor I are dead yet, in case you haven't noticed!"

"Oh, I noticed all right. _No_ one could miss noticin'!" Mutt grunted, peeking over his shoulder, and only turning when he saw his father was decently covered. "That belly of hers comes into a room two seconds before the rest of 'er!" the boy declared.

Indy struggled not to grin at his son's accurate description, and instead wagged a warning finger under his nose. "Do _not_ talk like that in front of you mother, you hear me? She's feeling self-conscious enough as it is." When Mutt started to retort, Indy raised an eyebrow, glared and wagged the finger again once. Mutt hesitated, considered what it was he'd come in to request, and decided that he'd let it go for the moment. Indy nodded as he saw his son shut his mouth and back off. Indy continued to the dresser and pulled out some clothes, tossing them on the chair beside the bed. He started pulling the sheet up on his side of the bed, and glanced at Mutt. "So, what was so important that it couldn't wait until we were downstairs at breakfast? What don't you want your mother to know about?" Indy gestured towards Marion's side of the bed, and nodded at Mutt.

Mutt sighed; cripes, he never made his _own_ bed, much less clean up after one of the 'rents. But he, once again, remembered his mission, and dutifully pulled up the sheet, then bedspread. He also wondered how his father had figured out so fast that he'd wanted to corner Dad alone on this one… "No reason," he lied. "I just wanted to know… could I borrow ten bucks until I get paid next week?"

Indy was about to drop his pillow into place, and looked up, startled, at his son. "Borrow ten … for God's sake, Mutt, you just got paid yesterday!" he said, incredulous.

Mutt flushed again. "Yeah, I know, but I got a date tonight, and I had to pay off Blackie for some parts for the Harley, and – "

Indy dropped the pillow into place as Mutt started his explanation, and shook his head. "Nope."

Mutt stopped. _Nope? What's he mean, nope?_ "But, Dad, I – "

"Nope."

"I'm gonna pay – "

"Nope."

"Dammit, you aren't even listening to me!" Mutt protested, arms out wide in supplication.

Indy smiled grimly. "Oh, I was listening all right, Junior." Indy turned his back on his son, quickly pulled on some underwear under the protection of his robe, then turned back around, hands on his hips and eyed his son sternly with a glare that pinned back his son's ears as effectively as if he'd grasped them both in his big hands. "I heard you loud and clear. You're spending more than you earn, Buster Brown. You're overextended, and you're hoping I'll bail you out." He walked to the closet and pulled out a pair of lightweight pants.

Mutt's mouth opened, and then shut. "It's just a loan," he muttered defensively.

"Nope. And do not, I repeat, _do not,_ ask your mother, either."

"Dad, that's not fair!"

"Tough. Oh, wait." Indy pulled on his pants, and hung the robe up on a hook on back of the closet door. He turned to his son. "I _will_ give you a tip." He leaned in closer to his boy. "You want to spend money like water? Get a second job." Mutt closed his eyes in frustration as his father continued on past him to the chair where he picked up the blue knit polo shirt he'd chosen for the day.

"Thanks for nothin'," Mutt growled, turning and stalking toward the door.

"Are you interested in working for it?"

Mutt's hand stopped on the doorknob, and he hesitated. He literally had a dollar and twenty-nine cents in his jeans pocket. There was no way he could take a chick out on that, much less buy gas for the week. Grinding his molars together he drew in a breath. "Doin' what?" He glanced warily over his shoulder.

"Your mother wants the attic cleaned out."

Mutt turned around, his head tipped to one side. "She wants _you_ to clean out the attic. It's your crap up there."

"Watch your mouth," Indy said automatically, but without a lot of emotion. "Nothing says I can't subcontract the job." Indy's eyes twinkled a little.

Mutt crossed his arms over his chest thoughtfully. "It's gonna be a frigg… it's gonna be an oven up there today," he said slowly. He raised his chin and an eyebrow. "Thirty bucks."

Indy snorted in laughter. "In your dreams, Junior!"

Mutt shrugged, an evil smile on his face. "Fine, Pops. _You_ be the one sweat off 10 pounds up there today. I can take my girl to the nice, cool lake tonight and we can make out for free." He turned toward the door, just slowly enough to let the information sink in.

Indy's grin froze. _Damn_. He frowned. "Fifteen," he grunted.

Mutt turned back, eyes gleaming. "Twenty."

"Eighteen."

Mutt shook his head. "Twenty. Take it or leave it."

Indy hesitated, then chuckled, scratching behind his ear.

Mutt saw he had him, and stuck out a strong, young hand. "Deal?"

"Deal," Indy agreed. "Brat."

Mutt cackled and both left the room. Indy headed toward the bathroom while Mutt started for the stairs. "Tell your mother I'll be right down, okay?"

"Sure thing, Pops," the boy nodded as he clattered down the steps. Indy grinned to himself and went into the bathroom. Fatherhood… he began earnestly praying for a girl…

* * *

"Jones."

Silence.

Marion sighed. "Jones, I think I'm in labor."

Startled, Indy's head came around, his grey-green hazel eyes wide with abject terror. "What?!" he choked.

Marion rolled her eyes. "Well, I had to say something to bring you back from Never-Neverland!" she declared, tapping her nails on her coffee mug. "What's up with you, Indy? Your mind is anywhere but here lately."

"Nothing," he protested uneasily.

Exasperated, Marion threw her hands up. "For Chrissake, Jones, do I look blonde to you?!" she demanded.

Indiana flushed a little, and sighed. Giving up, he brought his chin to rest on his fist. He should have known he'd be unable to hide anything from her. He'd never been able to hide anything from her. Mutt said the same thing; that it was always easier to just tell her the truth to start with because she always figured it out. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be distant. I'm just… I don't want to … well, I was just wondering how the dig was going," he finished, uneasily, not at all sure whether or not she'd fly off the handle and misunderstand.

Marion sighed, bringing a hand up stroke his cheek. "Oh," she said gently, understanding. "I'm sorry, Jones. I didn't think about that."

He shrugged. "Don't be sorry," he smiled. "And really, it's not like you think, it's just that I'm just not used to be around the house in the summer. I don't think I've been home in a summer in fifteen years," he mused.

"I wish I could have timed this differently," she sighed, patting her belly.

He leaned over and kissed her, taking her hand. "Don't be ridiculous," he said firmly. "Besides, I enjoyed the production of this way too much to regret it," he teased. "And this'll give me an opportunity to spend more time with Mutt before he goes off to college."

Marion, sighing, rolled her eyes and got to her feet. "Indy, you had better stop setting yourself up for disappointment," she warned, as she headed to the counter to pour herself more coffee.

"So, you don't you want to see him go to college?" he demanded.

"I didn't say that; don't put words in my mouth, buster," she said firmly. "But you've got to remember… he did what you demanded. He went back to school, even though he hated it, and got his diploma. Now let him live his life. If it includes college, fine. If not, it's _his_ life."

Indy opened his mouth to retort, but Marion turned on him with her eyebrow raised in much the way he'd stopped Mutt earlier, and he subsided. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I just want him to have the best possible start in life," he said softly.

Marion set the dirty dishes in the sink and smiled. "I know, honey. He knows that, too. But he's a Jones, through and through. He's got to learn these lessons for himself. Just like you did."

They both turned as they heard the front door slam and boots come into the kitchen. "Hey, mail's here," Mutt announced, pawing through the pile and dropped that which wasn't for him onto the kitchen table. Right into a puddle of pancake syrup.

"Mutt!" scolded Marion, quickly wiping up the table after Indy snatched up the mail.

"What?" asked Mutt, surprised. Then chagrined as he saw what he'd done. "Oh." Sheepishly, he shrugged. "Sorry," he apologized.

Indy was nearly bursting with curiosity as he saw three large envelopes in Mutt's hands. "Anything interesting, Junior?" he asked innocently, making a pretense of looking through his own mail.

"Nah, just some stuff from colleges," Mutt replied, knowing how much his father would freak.

Marion rolled her eyes and went back to the dishes. _Men… please, God, let this one be a girl…I'll need a sane mind to lean on when I'm old and gray…_

"Mutt!"

Mutt grinned and tossed them at his father. "I didn't make it into Boston, but we figured I wouldn't," he reported. "I did get accepted at Fairleigh Dickinson and here at Marshall."

Indy's face split in a wide happy grin. "That's fantastic, kid! Congratulations!" he crowed, thoroughly delighted, getting up and clapping his son's shoulder.

"Yeah, well, we'll see," Mutt finished, warningly. "Remember, I haven't decided if I'm goin' yet, and you said you'd back off and let me decide for myself."

Indy nodded. "Your mother just reminded me," he sighed.

"Well, I'm gonna head up there before it gets so hot I bake. You marked everything that gets carted out to the dump, right?"

"Yeah," nodded Indy, as he looked down at his mail for real this time. "It's just a question of hauling it out - Utah…who's this?… Herman Mueller… Herman…. my God, _Herman!"_

Mutt and Marion both turned in surprise.

"Who's Herman?" asked Marion, setting the washrag on the faucet.

"Kid I grew up with in Utah," he replied. "Remember me telling you about the Cross of Coronado?"

Marion thought back and then nodded. "Right, the caves when you were in Scouts."

"Right," nodded Indy. He waved the letter. "Herman was the kid who was with me at the time the cross was uncovered." He glanced over the letter and frowned.

"So what's he writing to you about now?" asked Mutt, folding his arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. Marion, too, was curious and sat back down in her chair.

"He's writing to mention that there's a 45th reunion of our 8th grade class," he said slowly. _God Almighty… was it really 45 years?!_ "Also, that he's found some photographs of my parents from back then that he thought I might like to have."

"When's the reunion?" asked Marion.

Indy glanced at the letter again. "Ten days; next weekend." Frowning, he glanced at the postmark, and his expression cleared. "Oh, I see. The letter went to the college first, that's why it's late…"

"You goin'?"

"Are you serious?" Indy looked up at his son in disbelief. "Travel to Utah for an 8th grade class reunion?!"

"Why not?" asked Marion, thoughtfully. He looked at her as though she'd lost her mind, as well. She leaned forward and tapped the letter. "You haven't heard from him in 45 years… why's he contacting you now? Read between the lines, Jones."

"Does he give ya a phone number?" asked Mutt, curiously.

Indy hesitated. "Do you guys really want to go spend the hottest part of July in the desert?" he asked in disbelief. "_You_ certainly aren't going," he said firmly to Marion, setting the letter down on the table.

She raised an eyebrow, and leaned back in her chair. "Really. Since when do you tell me where I go or don't go?"

Helplessly, Indy looked to his son for support, but Mutt was studiously reading the letter for more information as to what might truly be going on. "Marion, you're only two months away from delivery, for Chrissake!"

"Jones, there's gotta be more to this than a class reunion. Why would this Harvey – "

"Herman."

"_Whatever! _Why would he write to you _now_, 45 years later, and even throw in something about finding old photographs… old photos he could have had shipped to you? It just doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, besides, Pops, we could make this a real family vacation," grinned Mutt, pulling out a kitchen chair, turning it around, sitting down as though he was mounting his motorcycle. He crossed his arms on the top of the backrest, propping his chin on his forearms. These fights were always fun, with Indy and Mom both digging in their heels. What was it the old man had said to Mom in the truck in Peru? "I could never win a fight with you!" Maybe not, but he was sure getting better, and watching the fireworks was cheap entertainment.

And the argument began… a thoroughly useless one, as it turned out.

For two days later, Dr. Henry Jones, Jr, his lovely, very pregnant wife and nearly adult son boarded a train on their way to Utah.

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Chapter 2

_**Indiana Jones and the Adventure of the Mystic's Cave**_

**Chapter Two Summary: **Indy steps into his past, Marion hears more of the history of a young boy she'd always wondered about, Mutt interest is piqued, and our mystery begins to unfold. Note: this chapter contains endnotes.

**Setting**: July, 1958, post KoTCS

**Characters**: Indy/Marion/Mutt, probably Oxley and a couple of new OCs, applicable to this story; possibility of some recurring OCs as well; the return of some old friends; I'm not yet sure. Like Indy, "I'm making this up as I go along."

**Rating**: T (for language, and a little – _ahem_! – marital aerobics)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Indiana Jones, Marion, Mutt, Oxley or any of the characters and characterizations notable to the Indiana Jones franchise, and have no desire to commit copyright infringement. However, any original characters and the storyline itself ARE mine.** :-) Please consider the MacGuffin for this story copyrighted.**

**Acknowledgement: **Okay, I'm going on the record that anybody who posts to these boards has got to avail themselves of a beta reader. Not only do they help catch you from making an idiot of yourself with silly spelling and grammar errors, but they are absolutely invaluable to a writer as a sounding board. My deepest thanks to my beta; I know now that I would not continue this story without her. Much love, kiddo.

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CHAPTER TWO

The sun beat down on the roof of the train's passenger car, but, gratefully, the air conditioning unit was functioning perfectly and the eighteen or so riders were reasonably comfortable. The brilliant light illuminated the interior of the luxurious railroad car. Indy had been pleased and surprised to see that the old Denver & Rio Grande Western still ran to Green River, and the cars were as plush and comfortable as the old days. Mutt had stepped into the car and his jaw had dropped to see the deeply upholstered seats, the rich fabric lining the walls of the cars. "Quite a step up from the D&H Commuter, huh, kid?" grinned Indy as he helped Marion settle onto one of the facing bench seats in the middle of the car and seating himself beside her, by the window. The dining car had been as accommodating as a five star restaurant and the Pullman sleeper surprisingly comfortable.

Now, just an hour from their destination, the small family was travel-weary, anxiously waiting for this next-to-last leg of their journey to end. It had been a long couple of days, especially for the lanky adolescent. He dozed with his head on a small pillow propped against the sidewall of the car, one long leg extended out with his foot on the floor, the other stretched out on the rest of the seat, one booted foot poking out into the aisle . His arms were crossed over his chest, jacket off, folded neatly (by his mother!) over the back of the seat, shirt unbuttoned at the top and his tie loosened. His mother, tired and really wishing she could put her feet up, distracted herself by studying the angles of his young face.

Marion smiled to herself as she studied her son while he slept; all the youthful bravado and teenage semi-toughness melted away when Mutt was relaxed and sleeping, and he looked like the little boy she remembered so fondly. _It was hard to let that little boy go and let the young man start taking his place_, Marion remembered. But she had been a wise mother: she'd given the youngster enough freedom to feel confident in allowing his boyhood to slip behind him and begin discovering himself as a man, while maintaining her position as cheerleader, confidant and occasional judge, jury and jailer.

Mutt shifted in his sleep a little, and Marion smiled, her reverie breaking. She glanced to her left at her husband and gently reached out to touch his hand. Marion studied her husband and noted the change in him since they'd got off the plane in Chicago...

_They'd spent the first night there, with Indy and Marion showing Mutt some of their "together" history… the house where seventeen-year-old Marion had lived in when she and Abner had welcomed an intense doctoral candidate named Henry Jones, Junior into the house, "a bum… but the most gifted bum I ever trained," Abner had said._

_They had walked around the University of Chicago – Indy hoping that the beautiful campus might make Mutt a little interested, but Mutt seemed more focused on the few co-eds who were flitting back and forth that evening during the summer term._

_They had dinner at the Italian restaurant Marion and Indy used to frequent… in fact, the sweet and sentimental waiter, Tony, who used to smuggle them an extra glass of wine once in awhile was now the owner and actually recognized them, crowing in delighted Italian at seeing Mutt. _**_"Un ragazzo davvero alto e affascinante! E un altro in arrivo? Congratulazioni!" i_**

_"Yeah, Tony, another baby on the way," grinned Indy, clasping Marion's hand. Marion smiled warmly at the portly restaurateur, remembering those romantic dinners by candlelight so many, many years ago._

_Tony smiled as he studied Mutt and nodded to Indy. _**_"Ha la tua fronte, i tuoi occhi...Ma la forma del viso...direi che è di sua madre, no?"ii_**

_He and Indy conversed a little in Indy's halting Italian, making Marion smile indulgently and Mutt roll his eyes. He knew from the gestures and expressions that he was being talked about; he felt kind of like when he was small and people had patted him on the head, saying how 'much you've grown!' But he couldn't help seeing how delighted his mother was, and for that he was grateful. His stomach was growling, so he was grateful for Tony's next words, as well._

_"I make-a you **so** nice a dinner!" Tony declared, barking out orders in Italian to his staff, who sprang to attention, excited to show these old friends the best their master's establishment could provide. Even Mutt had nothing to complain about when it came to the meal that night._

_"You want some more wine?"_

_Mutt looked up from his pasta Bolognese and saw a pair of the biggest, deepest, darkest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen gazing into his with a bottle of Chianti hovering nearby. The face in which they were set wasn't too bad, either. In fact… she was astonishingly, exotically beautiful. Mutt stared at her and nodded dumbly. Smiling, she began to pour, but stopped, suddenly, with the glass less than half full, when she heard a deep voice bark sternly, **"Basta!"iii**_

_"Fream... total fream," Mutt had muttered, as he picked the glass up in his hand before his father could confiscate it._

_"Underage," Indy informed the girl, to Mutt's embarrassment._

_She smiled and nodded. "I'll bring something else," she promised._

_"Just had to do it, didn't you?" Mutt scowled at his father, red to the tips of his ears. Indy swiftly removed the wineglass from his son's hands, downing the wine himself and set the glass firmly back on the table, raising an eyebrow. Mutt slumped in his seat, seething._

_The girl returned with a glass of cola. "Coke, OK?" she cleared with the father._

_Indy nodded and turned his attention back to her grandfather, failing to notice the waitress winking at the boy at the table as she set the glass down in front of him._

_Bemused, Mutt sipped the cola, then grinned at her. Okay, so she didn't lie - it was Coke … it was just laced with a bit of rum. Her dark eyes danced and she grinned back, making sure to linger a bit at the boy's end of the table while serving dinner._

_Old Tony had clapped his hands and several of the waiters hurried over to the corner of the restaurant, one picking up an accordion and the other two, violins. The romantic strains of an Italian air filled the room and Indy turned to Marion with a smile. "Feel up to a turn on the dance floor, Mrs. Jones?" he asked softly._

_"With you, Dr. Jones?" she replied, "anytime!"_

_Tony beamed at the couple and sighed, pleased. The kitchen door peeped open slightly and Tony's wife poked her head out. When she saw the couple on the dance floor, her eyes watered with emotion. "So beautiful!" she whispered. Tony glanced back at her and chuckled, gallantly offering her his hand to dance with him, out of the way by the door. Blushing, she slapped his hand, called him an old fool, hesitated, then melted into his arms to sway gently to the music._

_Mutt sipped his rum and coke and glanced up at the young waitress, whose own eyes were misting at the sight of her grandparents dancing together. He grinned at her. "It ain't jive, but… you want to dance?"_

_She accepted his hand and moved smoothly into place in his arms._

_"You dance very well," she said softly. "I am Bianca."_

_"I'm Mutt."_

_"Mutt? Like a dog?" she giggled. "I do not believe you were baptized with this name, no?"_

_He chuckled. "No. I was christened Henry, but I sure like 'Mutt' a lot better."_

_"Henry… ah, but in Italiano, it is a handsome name," she protested as they danced. "It is Enrico…a **man's** name," she whispered in his ear, her tongue lingering over the syllables... En- RRRRRRRRRi - co... as he skillfully turned her gently to the music._

_**A man's name… Sweet Jesus…Dad always said Venice was the City of Love;** "Okay… call me whatever you want, sweetheart, just don't call me late for dinner."_

_"Silly… You ate your dinner."_

_"I'll be back tomorrow for seconds."_

_She giggled, then turned her head as the music picked up it's pace a little to an Italian folk dance. Bianca saw the boy's parents sit back down to watch as her grandparents showed them the dance, and she laughed and took Mutt's hand and pulled him to the dance floor. At first embarrassed, he finally gamely took a stab at learning, making his parents chuckle and clap when he had it mastered by the second spin around the floor. The other diners joined in, until it felt like a wonderful family gathering. They all sipped wine - or rum and coke - and danced long after the restaurant had closed to the general public._

_By the time the Joneses returned to their hotel and fell into bed late that night, Mutt was worn out and Indy and Marion were lulled to sleep bathed in happy memories. They'd boarded the train the next morning for the next part of their journey: Chicago, Illinois to Green River, Utah._

Marion realized this was his first trip back to the area since his mother had passed away over forty years earlier. There were so many anomalies, so many painful and uncomfortable triggers, attached to her husband that would plunge him, unexpectedly, into his past. Here, now, with the inescapable reality of Anna Jones' resting place just a few hundred miles down the railroad track, Marion watched as her husband seemed to try to steel himself, to shield himself, from the hurt that hovered so close to the surface. As her cool hand clasped his, she could almost feel the energy radiating from him. He turned from the window and glanced at her, inquiringly. She smiled, shook her head to indicate nothing was wrong and just leaned against him. He smiled and raised his arm to allow her to cuddle closer. As she rested her head on his shoulder, Indy leaned over, kissed her hair, and sighed. He turned back again to the window, staring at the landscape as mile upon mile of desert disappeared behind them. Marion closed her eyes and decided to follow her son's example.

Indy studied he view marveling at how little had changed in the more than 40 years since he and his dad had left the Southwest for Henry's new teaching position at Princeton back in late May of 1915. Henry had been so ready to leave everything behind that he'd not bothered to ask how Indy felt about it at all. Of course, he wouldn't have, anyway; that just wasn't done. Henry had a job to do, and Indy was just going to have to accept the move, like it or not, just as he'd always had to accept everything. The boy would do as he was told, period. Indy sighed, resting his chin on his fist as he gazed out the window, wondering how many ghosts would meet him when he finally arrived back in Utah.

* * *

"You sure he's coming, Herm?"

"I ain't sure of nothin', Larry." The exaggerated "good ol' boy" accent earned him a look of reproof from the other man, as Herman initialed several papers and handed them back to his secretary. He grinned at her and winked. She flushed, smiling prettily. She was the teenaged granddaughter of one of his friends, fresh out of secretarial school, and he'd wanted to give her a chance. She was turning out to be a good risk: she was a fast typist, pleasant on the phone, and rock-solid dependable.

"Thanks, Amy Lou. You can send those on to the Mayor's office for signature." Herman waited until the girl was out of the room, and then turned back to his old friend. "His wire said he was comin' on today's train to Green River with his family, then renting a car to drive out here to Moab, that's all I can tell you."

Sheriff Herman Mueller continued reading through his mail and glancing in amusement at his old friend scowling in front of him while sitting in the breeze of a small oscillating fan Herman's secretary had placed on the bookcase. It supported the ceiling fan in moving a breeze of air around the office, ruffling papers on the desk and causing items tacked up on the bulletin board to wave gently in rhythmic response.

Herman was mighty grateful that the town had okayed the department changing to short-sleeved shirts last year. Although in the past, he'd just rolled up the sleeves of his uniform tunic. The length of the sleeve wasn't important, after all; the badge just to the side of his left front pocket was the real article that counted. Lately he'd even taken to leaving his tie at home and leaving his shirt open throated. Herm had never been a fussy sort when it came to clothes. As a youngster, he'd been so overweight for such a long time that he'd not looked decent in anything anyway, and when he did suddenly stretch up seven inches and lose the pounds, he stayed more relaxed sartorially. He grinned inwardly at the difference in the man across from him.

Lawrence Collier had been his best friend for more than 40 years… well, his best friend after Henry Jones, Junior and his father had left Moab for a college town back East. Up until that point, Junior -- or Indy, as he preferred -- had been pretty much Herman's _only_ friend. Everyone else had made him the butt of their jokes. Larry had been one of the first to eat crow and ask Herman's pardon for old sins, and they'd cemented a friendship from that point on. Larry was now the editor-in-chief and publisher of Moab's daily newspaper, _The Sentinel_. And something of a prissy clothes-horse, in Herm's opinion. Larry and Herman couldn't have appeared to be more polar opposites, and yet, there weren't dearer friends. They'd been best men at each other's weddings, godfathers to each others' children.

"Herman, we aren't kids any more."

Sheriff Mueller snorted with laughter. "And that's a revelation to whom, old buddy?" chuckled the sheriff as he thumbed through memos and notes from his staff, mentally filing everything in front of him and tossing the pile finally into his "out" box for Amy Lou to plow through and take care of.

But Larry Collier continued on as though Herman hadn't interrupted. "He's an archaeologist, now, and a big city college professor, to boot, not just Junior Jones." Larry's forefinger tapped the top of Herman's desk. "He's been all over the world, he was a decorated war hero with time in the OSS. What in hell makes you think he's gonna be willin' to help us? Far as that goes… hell, what makes ya think he CAN help us?" The newspaper editor slumped back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. "This whole situation is beginning to make me believe I've gone off the deep end, Herm, I don't mind tellin' ya. We gotta get some answers, but … well, gol'dangit, we _are_ talkin' about Indy Jones, who never did _anythin'_ like anybody else. I don't know. It's been a long time since he was here. What makes you think he's gonna feel any kind of kinship to us after all these years?"

Herman Mueller leaned back in his office chair, thoughtfully sipping a cup of coffee. "I don't know that he will, Larry, but it sure ain't gonna hurt to ask," Herman replied, shrugging. "He was a good friend to me, Larry, you know that. And apparently he's seen enough weird stuff in his life to maybe find our little mystery of some interest." Herman smiled. "He's had a pretty fascinating career, y'know. Indiana did all right for himself."

Herman thought back to the scrappy and intense kid Henry Jones, Junior used to be. Tall, skinny, quick on his feet, with a smart mouth that got him into trouble more often than not. He and his father, Dr. Henry Jones, Sr., had left for the East just before Indy turned sixteen, so Herman never saw him as an adult. But he'd surely heard about him; heard about him, and about his exploits and discoveries all over the world. Herman's face grew somber for a moment. "He's about the only one I'd trust, Larry," the big Sheriff admitted quietly. Larry nodded, sympathetically, and sighed.

"I know, Herm. I know how hard this has been on you and Vi and the family." He reached over and absently patted his friend's arm. Herm was quiet a moment, then shook off the gloom and managed a smile as he picked up the framed image to his left elbow.

"Besides, Larry, we really ARE having a 45th reunion. Damn… doesn't seem possible that we were all that young once, does it?" Herman handed the old photograph across the desk to Larry. It was a photo from their 1912 Boy Scout Jamboree, and Herman sighed to see himself, tubby Herman the Fat Boy, forever picked on… except by the tall, skinny towhead Henry Jones, Junior. He remember how the Scoutmaster, Mr. Havelock, had always had a soft spot for Junior Jones, only son of a professor at the University of Utah whose wife, a sweet lovely lady, had been sent to the southwest for her health. It had been a pity she'd died so young, and not even from the consumption that had sent her here in the first place. God, how Indy had adored his mother…

The phone at Herman's elbow jangled noisily and he picked up the receiver. "Moab Sheriff's Department, Mueller." He was silent a moment, then glanced at Collier and nodded. "Thanks, Bo. I'm obliged. Give my best to Mary. Seeya." He replaced the receiver in the cradle and leaned back.

"Well, Dr. Henry Jones, Junior, his wife and son just rented a Chevy from Bo Stemple in Green River." He got to his feet and walked to the window that showed Route 191 and its straight-as-piss track back northwest to Green River. "He's on his way, Larry."

* * *

The white-walled tires of the 1957 red and white Impala convertible were more clay-red and black now than black and white, but the beautiful lines of the car couldn't be marred, even by the red dust billowing with every turn of the wheels down Route 191 from Green River, Utah south toward the city of Moab. The car was flanked on either side by the majestic mountains of the Arches to the Northeast, and Canyonlands to the southwest.

The car made a left-hand turn off Route 191 onto Centre Street, and then a right onto South 400 East Avenue, and pulled to a stop in front of a motel with the sign in the form of a very large arrow: "The Apache Motel."

Marion Jones stepped out of the Impala, looking far more rested and beautiful than she had any right to look, under the circumstances. Deep in her pregnancy, hot and weary, she still managed to look at the incredible landscape around her with wonder. "Indy … these mountains…. My God, this is beautiful."

Indy smiled tiredly as he gazed at her over the top of the car. "My mother said the same thing when we got off the train in Green River back in 1911," he grinned at his wife. He looked at the mountains in the distance and sighed. "They are pretty spectacular, aren't they?"

Whatever Marion would have said at that point was lost as the junior member of the party unfolded himself out of the back seat of the car. His jacket was off, his shirt was open at the neck and not tucked in for at least the last 150 miles, and his tie was stuffed unceremoniously into a pocket. "Holy Christ, this place is like a freakin' blast furnace…" he breathed, touching his forehead, expecting to feel sweat, but feeling nothing. Dry, just like Dad said. Mutt hoisted his butt onto the side of the car and swung his long legs out and around and dropped his feet to the tarmac.

"It's the desert in July, kid," reminded Indy as he placed his hat on his head. "What did you expect? Snow?" He wagged a finger at his son's nose. "And watch your language. This isn't home."

"You're tellin' me," sighed the young man, squinting at the picturesque little southwestern town, shaking his head in disbelief. Freshly painted white picket fences separating each immaculately trimmed lawn from the next, colorful flower pots and rose bushes… "What'd they do, hire Norman Rockwell to decorate this place? Geez…"

Marion smiled to herself and shook her head, reaching back into the car for her purse.

"Button your lip and get the suitcases," Indy grunted, tossing the boy the keys. Mutt sniffed and went around the back of the car.

"Cool it, Pops, I'll be a good boy," grinned the kid, once he was well out of reach of his father.

Indy raised his eyebrows at his wife, as though to say, _He's YOUR son_, and glanced around, trying to get his bearings. This patch of South 400 East Avenue was a helluva lot more built up than it had been over forty years ago, but the mountains themselves hadn't changed. If this was South 400 East, then that one in the distance had to be Sand Flats Road, heading over toward Mill Creek. He turned back to the north, almost closing his eyes to remember the cave and rock formations that were up in the northeast beyond town. The Arches, they'd always been called, and –

"Changed a lot?"

Startled, Indy turned toward the voice, questioning. Across the parking lot, a big bear of a man, towering two or three inches taller than Indiana and dressed in a lawman's uniform, leaned up against a police cruiser parked near the entrance to the hotel's office. The man laughed gently as he saw Indiana try to place him. He was both tall and broad, but muscular rather than flabby. The man's naturally fair skin was reddened from the sun; the hair was gray now, but the eyebrows were still a bit blond and the eyes a clear, sparkling bright blue. Indy tilted his head to the side trying to place those eyes, until the man smiled. With that big smile, there was no mistaking who he was.

"Good God," Indy breathed, his own face splitting into a big smile. "Herman? Herman Mueller!" He moved forward, hand outstretched, and Herman laughed again, shaking his hand.

"Welcome back, Indy," he said warmly. "It's been a long, long time." He flicked his eyes toward the other two in the party, reserving judgment for the moment on the disgruntled rebel without a cause and smiled at the woman instead. She was no young girl, that was for sure, but she was a lovely creature with compelling eyes and wonderful freckles on her nose and cheeks. Those incredible eyes…

"Afternoon, ma'am. You're the one my wife really wants to meet," he chuckled. "She says she's gotta meet the woman who tamed Indiana Jones," he grinned, tipping his hat.

Marion laughed. "Well, I'm certainly working on it, but it's a long term project," she admitted, putting out a hand. "I'm Marion, Sheriff."

"Herm, please, ma'am," he shook his head. "And this young feller looks too much like you both to be anyone but your boy, hey?" The Sheriff stuck out a hand. "I'm Sheriff Mueller, son, a friend of your old man's from way back."

"Nice to meet you, sir," nodded the boy, politely enough. "Name's Mutt."

Herm raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Still, his eyes twinkled as he glanced at Indy, who looked a trifle embarrassed. Herman clearly remembered a beloved Siberian husky who'd figured prominently in his friend's choice of name all those years ago. _Stands to reason_, he thought. "Yeah, like I said, he had to be yours." Before more could be said, he glanced at the motel behind them. "Well, why don't we get this lovely lady inside 'fore she melts. You, too, Old Timer," he grinned at Indiana. "You're not used to this heat or this elevation any more. We'll get you checked in and then head over to my place; my wife's got iced tea waiting."

Mutt cackled at hearing his father called Ol' Timer and decided he could probably like this guy.

_Old Timer?!_ Indy's eyebrow went up at that one and his mouth twisted in a grin. "I've spent more years than you know in the desert, Herman, just not _this_ one," he chuckled, offering one arm to Marion and retrieving one of the suitcases from Mutt as the boy unloaded the trunk of the car. "And in case you've forgotten, buddy, you're seven months older than I am."

As they walked toward the hotel's office, Indy remembered what Herman had said. "Wife… okay, so she knew me. Who'd you marry?"

Herman blushed a little. "Violet Traynor," he said proudly.

"Violet," Indy thought a moment, then his eyes widened in shock and he stopped short, staring up at Mueller. "Violet _Traynor_?!" he breathed. He remembered Violet… how could he have forgotten her?! She was the prettiest, smartest, nicest girl in their class; the girl most of the boys had wanted to date at one point or another. A real nice girl, as he remembered. "You were reaching for Everest, old buddy!" he declared in admiration.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't fat and useless forever, y'know, Jones," the Sheriff declared amiably. "After you and your dad left, I sort of came into my own. I got taller –"

"No kidding," chuckled Indy.

"I lost about 80 pounds, started playin' varsity football and suddenly, I wasn't Herman the Hog anymore. Vi and I got married a year out of High School, and started our brood… got five kids, eight grandkids."

Indy shook his head in amazement, while Herman laughed heartily, leading them into the motel.

* * *

Marion gratefully leaned back in the recliner Violet Mueller had offered her, allowing her feet to be elevated just a bit as she sipped an icy glass of tea. "Oh, this is heaven," she sighed.

Violet chuckled as she sat on Marion's other side. "I figured you might like a moment to get away from the men and get those feet up," she said practically. "Besides, they're going to start heading back to Memoryville, and frankly I've had about enough of the memories since we started planning this blasted reunion!" laughed Violet. "I'm far more interested in the present. What's Junior… I'm sorry, I mean what's _Indiana_ doing these days?"

Marion grinned. "It's so funny to hear you call him Junior… apparently only his father did after he turned twenty!" She sipped her drink and relaxed. "Indy's the Associate Dean of Marshall College. He earned his tenure fourteen years ago, and is the chair of the archaeology and antiquities department besides, so his plate is pretty full these days. He doesn't get out in the field anywhere near as much as he'd like to."

"I always knew he'd do something different. I could never imagine him stuck in an office all day," Violet smiled, also putting her recliner up. "Forgive me, Marion, I've got sciatica and this helps."

"Believe me, I'm with you," declared Marion.

"You're quite a bit younger than Indy?"

"Today? Not as much as I'd like," sighed Marion ruefully, as Vi chuckled. "Ten years." She saw Violet react and smiled. "Go ahead and do the math. I'm pregnant with my second child at 49. And I'm likely crazy."

Vi chuckled. She liked this woman. She was a perfect match for Indiana. She shrugged. "My grandmother had twins at 53. Age is just a number in most cases." She smiled as she looked out onto the patio where Herm, Indy and young Henry, III were relaxing with a beer each. Herm had allowed the youngest to join them in at least one round despite his being a few years shy of legal age.

"He's a good-looking boy," she smiled. "About twenty?"

"Nineteen this month," Marion nodded.

"He reminds me a lot of his father."

"Me, too, though both of them would have a conniption fit before they'd admit it!" smiled Marion. The women sipped their cool drinks and Marion glanced out toward her husband. "Tell me about him, Violet. He doesn't talk much about his times here," she said softly.

Violet nodded, sagely. "I 'magine he wouldn't," she observed. "They were hard, hard times for him. Junior Jones loved his mother very, very much, and she adored and doted on him. Too much, my mama used to say."

Marion glanced at her questioningly. "How can a mother love her son too much, for pity's sake?" she demanded. Images of Mutt threatened to dance in her mind, and she firmly shoved them back. _My son's no mama's boy!_

"Well, Anna Jones acted like a buffer between old Henry and Junior," explained Violet, not taking offense. "It got to the point that they really didn't have to rub together much at all. When she died, that meant neither one had any experience really talking with the other. They drifted apart so much that year…I wondered if they'd ever managed to create any semblance of a father and son kinship again."

Marion nodded. "The last fifteen years or so of old Henry's life, yes, they did." She hesitated and decided that sharing the tale of Indy's and Henry, Senior's adventure was up to Indy, not her, as was their own interesting marital history. "They did some… traveling together… just before the war, in Europe," she said slowly. "It brought them a lot closer together and mended some of the old fences, you know?"

"Oh, I _am_ glad to hear that," said Violet seriously. "Indiana was always such a serious kid, felt things pretty deeply, much more mature than the other boys."

Marion stared at the other woman. Violet nodded and smiled, sagely. "Oh, yes. In most ways, Marion, he was a lot more mature than the other boys. He could stand on his own two feet. But in other ways…." She shrugged. "It's hard to grow up without help. But of course, you'd know him better than the rest of us."

Marion studied the glass of iced tea in her hands, avoiding the gaze of the woman beside her; her basically honest nature won over discretion. "Violet… Indy and I have had a strange courtship and marriage dance over the last thirty years," she said quietly. "I never met his father."

Violet silently studied the woman beside her; lovely, but tough. In her late forties having a child, a grown son… and, let's face it, the life partner of the most unusual kid who'd ever lived in Moab. Vi knew there was a story there... but she was a sensible woman, and, frankly, a woman with a few stories of her own. She leaned her head back and sighed, then turned toward the younger woman. "If you're expecting judgment, I'm not the one to give it, Marion. We've all got our own tales to tell." She sipped her own tea and stared out at the mountains. Then she drew in a deep breath, settled back and began to talk.

"They were a beautiful-looking family, you know. Dr. Jones was a big, sturdy Scot with all that dark, dark hair, a beard and these eyes that were so dark and intense. Mrs. Jones was petite and blonde, big blue eyes, and pretty as a picture. Their boy, Junior, was a blend of the two of them. He was tall and real slim for his age… a beanpole when he was in his early teens, and so skinny we all thought a strong wind would blow him away… we used to call him a toothbrush with hair," she chuckled. "He had this mop of sandy brown hair he never could get to behave, and those eyes that change color from blue to green to grey depending on what he was wearing or what mood he was in."

Marion smiled to herself as she imagined her husband as a gangly, awkward boy, all feet and hands, clumsy as a colt, but with those beautiful, expressive eyes looking earnestly out of a thin face.

"Mrs. Jones had been sickly; that was what brought 'em out to the southwest to begin with, so she wasn't as active in the town or the school as some of the other mothers. But she adored her son, and did as much as she could with him. Dr. Jones was the scariest man I ever saw," Vi chuckled, shaking her head. "His eyes looked right through you! But we figured he couldn't be too bad, since we saw how much he loved his wife. He was so gentle with her. Not quite so gentle with Junior," she sighed.

Marion glanced over. Vi shook her head. "Oh, sorry... no, not like that, I don't mean he was cruel …. No, not at all. But that was the age of 'spare the rod and spoil the child,' and I guess I mean he just wasn't very patient. Any time Junior got himself into a scrape, Dr. Jones would come down pretty hard on him. I guess the old man came from a 'children should be seen and not heard' school of child-rearing; so even we kids could all see that Mrs. Jones tried to keep Indy and his exploits away from his father's eyes and ears." The woman shrugged. "After a few trips to the woodshed, Junior learned to avoid him as much as possible, and it's kind of sad to say, but it looked like Mrs. Jones kind of aided and abetted in that. Dr. Jones was so involved in his work, my mother said she was pretty lonesome… and that meant all she had was Junior."

Marion leaned back and processed this information slowly. It made so much sense, now, that she thought about Indy. She knew he still almost expected her to try to smother him_; Ha! Fat chance of that. _Marion Jones wanted a partner, not a little boy, nor did she want someone to dominate or be dominated by.

Before they had more time to share, the door opened and Indy came in with some old photographs, beaming from ear to ear. "Marion, look at these!" he entreated, his eyes shining. He spread the eight or nine photos on the table staring at them in wonder.

Mutt and Herman had followed him into the den, Herman beaming with pleasure at how much his friend was enjoying his find, and Mutt smiling a little indulgently. He winked at his mother as they came through the door, and she grinned at him in return.

"Herman found those when he went through George Donnelly's photography studio after young George died a few months back," nodded Violet, leaning forward looking at the old photographs of Indy and his parents. She glanced up at Mutt and pointed down at one shot of Indy at about fifteen. "You have your dad's eyes," she smiled.

Mutt looked closer, then looked up at his father and was surprised to notice she was right... the shape of his eyes, the browline... there _was_ a resemblance.

"This wasn't taken too long before you and Dr. Jones left for the East, was it?" Vi asked her old friend and playmate.

Indy's expression relaxed a bit. "No, I don't think it was. I must have been around fourteen or so." His eyes lingered on a portrait of his parents, and his finger traced the smiles on their faces. "I don't have many pictures of my dad smiling. They… they looked really happy here," he said softly, almost in wonder.

"My mother used to say that she'd never seen any man look with love at a woman the way your father looked at your mom," Herman said quietly. "It was a quiet thing, she said, but so deep…"

Surprised, Indy looked up at his friend. Violet nodded at Indy's expression. _He didn't realize, _she thought;_ he was too wrapped up in his own hurting to even notice._ "Oh, absolutely," she agreed. "When your mother died, your dad all but fell apart."

* * *

…Thoughts merged and swelled, images, fragments of words, letters, even nothing more than feeling, swirled in the vast open consciousness. Gradually two entities found their way to each other.

…_He has changed much in all these years._

…_**But his energy…. That energy is still the same. He may indeed be able to help us.**_

…_He has a baby on the way! I can't drag him and his family into this._

…_**He is here. The Universe has already done this for us, child.**_

…_No! It's not fair, it's – _

…_**It's his destiny. **_

…_Damn__ destiny! _

…Silence

…_All right. Perhaps you're right, but if there's any danger to him, I insist we figure out a way to remove him from the equation. I will not be responsible._

…a sense of frustration emerged _**You have grown up with the knowledge, child, and yet you still refuse to embrace the realities of the universe. You are not **__**responsible**__**! He is here because he has created his life this way. He has drawn himself here, not the other way around! It is his destiny, and he must be given the space to work it out for himself.**_

…But the answering thought had shut itself down, refusing to be drawn into the old teachings.

…And the swirl of consciousness once more became nebulous and unattached.

TO BE CONTINUED

i "Such a tall, handsome son! And another baby? Congratulations!"  
ii "He has your brow, your eyes… but the shape of his face… it is his mamma's, no?"  
iii "Enough!"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Indiana Jones and the Adventure of the Mystic's Cave**_

**Chapter Three Summary: **Indy finds a new perspective on history; Marion finds facets of Indy she never knew existed; Mutt finds some trouble – as usual!

**Setting**: July, 1958, post KoTCS

**Characters**: Indy/Marion/Mutt, probably Oxley and a couple of new OCs, applicable to this story; possibility of some recurring OCs as well; the return of some old friends; I'm not yet sure. Like Indy, "I'm making this up as I go along."

**Rating**: T (for language, and a little – _ahem_! – marital aerobics)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Indiana Jones, Marion, Mutt, Oxley or any of the characters and characterizations notable to the Indiana Jones franchise, and have no desire to commit copyright infringement. However, any original characters and the storyline itself ARE mine.** :-) Please consider the MacGuffin for this story copyrighted. **

Also, from a Craft point of view, please forgive my willful adjustments to the phases of the moon for the year 1958. :-) As far as my ephemeris tells me, there was no full moon at this time of the month of July 1958, but, what the hell… this _**is **_fiction…. LMAO

**Acknowledgement: **Okay, folks… so I've got ANOTHER reason to get yourself a beta reader: There is no one – I repeat, NO ONE – who makes you feel better about what you post online than a good beta!! :-) Beta'O'Mine, you ROCK. Bless you for your invaluable help.

* * *

**_CHAPTER THREE_**

After three days of traveling and the visit to the Muellers', Mom had really got herself totally bushed, and to give the old man credit, Pops noticed it before Mutt did. To be honest, they were all pretty tired, and Mutt, for one, was ready to cut out and not stay for dinner. Pops caught the drift and offered a "thanks but no thanks" to the Muellers' invitation and promised to catch up with them the next day.

Mom wasn't even hungry; she took a bath and fell into bed almost before they got in the door. Mutt and the old man grabbed a burger at the restaurant in the hotel and even though Mutt thought originally he might go catch a flick someplace, he, too, decided to bag it and pile up some Z's.

When he'd first seen their rooms that afternoon, Mutt had nearly groaned at his father's cageyness. Rather than the two separate rooms he'd anticipated, Mutt had arrived to find that his father had reserved a 3-bedroom suite, complete with a small kitchen and sitting area, "perfect for families," he'd claimed innocently. "After all, you wanted a 'family vacation.' "

At that one, Mutt had groaned. _So much for getting out from under the parental unit's thumb once in awhile!_ the young man had thought as he trudged into his room off the living area. He'd tossed his bag into the corner in annoyance and flopped on the bed, grateful for the air conditioner making the room more comfortable. As he lay there looking up at the ceiling, Mutt realized that he was making a mountain out of a molehill. He was 19, for Chrissake! An adult! He could come and go as he pleased. As long as he behaved like an adult, he'd be treated like one. Wasn't that what Mom and Pops were always preaching at him? He sighed and let himself relax. _Finally, to be lying down on something that wasn't moving…God, this feels good!_

Now, hours later, it still felt good. Mutt didn't bother to do more than strip, toss his clothes wherever and tumble into bed in his underwear.

* * *

In their room, Indy undressed as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Marion, who finally looked like she was really resting in bed. He looked guilty when she opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "I'm sorry, I tried to be quiet."

"Oh, you didn't wake me up," she whispered, stretching a little. "I've just been completely relaxed… I think whoever invented air conditioning oughta get a Congressional Medal."

Indy chuckled as he slid into bed beside her. She immediately cuddled as close as their child would let them and rested her head on his shoulder.

Indy settled his arm around her, kissed her fragrant hair – _vanilla and spice! How does she __do__ that? _– and rested his chin lightly on her head, sighing in complete contentment. "You're amazing, you know that?"

She laughed. "Yeah, that's me. Marion Jones and her Amazing Bubble Belly."

"Shush," he reproved her. "Think about it… You've been traveling for three days. You're in the middle of the desert in July, for God's sake. You're very… " He ran a gentle hand over the ever-growing bump of his son or daughter, making her laugh, "_very_ pregnant. And yet you can still manage to be so loaded with charm that you've won over two of the best people this town ever produced." He kissed her nose. "So, Marion Jones, I repeat, you are amazing." He gently rubbed the 'bubble belly' in question once again. "How do you feel?"

"Freakin' exhausted," she admitted. "Violet's a great person, Indy. Why didn't you snag her yourself all those years ago?" she teased him.

"It wasn't for lack of trying, believe me," he replied, with a grin. "Every guy in school wanted to date Vi. She was always pretty reserved, though. She was always really nice, very kind, but didn't let people get too close."

"Kind of like someone else I know," said Marion softly, as she stroked his chest.

He smiled to himself, but realized Marion was right… kind of like himself. She didn't have a lot of girlfriends that would go to her house for hen parties. He knew her parents to be nice, quiet people; there'd never been any stories there. It made him wonder if there was a story there, as there'd been a story in his own life. Hearing Herman and Violet's accounts of his own family made him starkly aware of how different perceptions could be of a situation, dependent on one's proximity. Indy realized suddenly that Marion was talking and he'd not been paying attention.

"Sorry, hon, dozed a little there, I guess. What'd you say?"

"I said Herman's a good guy," Marion replied. "It was really nice of him to save those family pictures for you."

"Yeah," Indy agreed. He grew pensive then, remembering those photographs. "I'm really grateful for that."

Marion heard the change in his voice, and stroked his chest more gently, then drew herself away from the embrace and propped herself on her elbow. "You okay, Jones?"

He nodded, unaware that his "sad little boy" face had superimposed itself on his middle-aged features. "Yeah. I just…I'm just surprised to hear some of the stories," he admitted. Marion was surprised, too. _He's getting sentimental in his old age… or trusting me a hell of a lot more, one or the other._

"Surprised why, Indy? Surprised to hear how deeply your dad loved your mother?" she asked softly.

He didn't look at her as he shrugged. "I guess… I guess I've been wrong all these years," he said, very quietly, and very sadly. "I was pretty unfair to him."

"Jones." When he didn't look up, she reached out and tipped his chin to make his eyes meet hers. "The blame can be spread around pretty well, don't you think? It's not all yours."

"But-"

She shook her head, and stroked back a lock of his gray hair. "Honey, you were a kid. A kid who's mother was dying. I don't care if you're thirteen or three or thirty, Jones, that hurts. I've been there, I know. Cut yourself some slack."

Indiana turn on his side and looked into his wife's eyes, thanking whatever Power was out there that had brought this woman back into his life. He smiled a little at her and kissed her.

"Okay, now could we talk more tomorrow?" she asked, matter-of-factly, knowing that getting any more emotional would be her husband's undoing. "I want to try to get some sleep while this kid is snoozing." She put her head back down on the pillow and pulled him down, too. "And you're looking pretty crusty around the edges, old man. Time for you to get some shut-eye, too."

They lay back, with Indiana letting her settle in comfortably first, and then arranging himself. Indy was glad to hear, in no more than moments, Marion's even breathing indicating she'd fallen asleep. It took him a little longer; whenever he closed his eyes his mind replayed all the angry, resentful scenes between his father and himself all those years ago. Frustrated and overtired, he cast his mind for another image, and found that he could relax by focusing his memory on that one portrait of his parents Herman had found; the one of them smiling broadly, so unlike the usual poses of the day in photography.

Finally, he dozed off to sleep with that image of his parents' warm smiles in his mind.

* * *

The thermometer just outside the motel's office door registered a baking-hot 94 degrees, but Mutt was surprised to note that it didn't feel that bad. Was he getting used to the dry heat already? Very dark sunglasses kept the brilliant sun from hurting his eyes, and he'd left the leather jacket in his room in the suite.

Before leaving the room, he'd taken stock: crisp, white t-shirt, cigarettes rolled perfectly in the left sleeve; tight blue jeans and his engineer boots, complete with lighter, comb and wallet in pants pockets and switchblade in boot. Hair? Perfect.

He walked out into the family area of the suite and was kind of surprised to see no one. Had they already gone out for breakfast? He glanced at the clock and saw it was close to 9 a.m. He stepped quietly to his parents' door and even over the air conditioning unit was able to hear his father's soft snore; if Mom was up, Pops would be, too. He was too light a sleeper not to be awakened when she got out of bed.

He smiled indulgently as he realized the oldsters were a bit more worn out than he was. He dug into his wallet to check for long green, and was contented to find about six bucks. Easy; breakfast and some gas – if he could talk Dad out of the car for an hour or two -- with plenty to spare! He crossed over to the desk by the suite's main window and rummaged quietly through it for paper and something to write with. He quickly found motel stationery and a pencil, and scribbled out a note to his parents, then eased quietly out the door.

Mutt walked across the parking lot to the diner next door to the motel; last night it had been all but empty, but this morning there wasn't an empty table in the place. Mutt grinned to himself: food must be pretty good, then. He spied a couple of seats up at the counter. Making his way through the crowd, he plunked himself down on a spinning stool and looked around.

He unrolled his pack of cigarettes from his left sleeve, and, tapping the end of the pack on the heel of his hand, looked around at the rest of the clientele as he lit his first cigarette of the day. The crowd this morning was pretty much oldsters, like Mom and Dad, middle-aged people. Before he had a chance to assess the group further, he saw a young waitress sashay up. This girl was stacked and built for speed, complete with bleached blonde poodle hairdo, chewing gum, and sporting heavily applied make-up. She laid a menu in front of him. "How's it shakin', Romeo?" a semi-bored look on her face.

He grinned back at her. "Ginchiest, Doll."

At his response, her eyes widened and she put full attention to her new young distraction.

"You are _not_ from around here," she grinned, leaning a hip artfully against the counter.

"Nah," he agreed. "My old man's got some class reunion or something. My mom and I are just along for the ride. I figured I'd grab some grub and then go eyeball the place." He took a puff of his cigarette.

"Yeah, well, that oughta kill ten minutes of your morning." The tone was as dry as the desert outside the diner.

Mutt grinned. "So, what's your tale, nightingale?"

The girl shifted to leaning the opposite hip against the counter. "My old man copped a new gig here, 'bout six months back. It's cool… I mean, the view sure beats Ohio," she shrugged. Her eyes sparkled as she boldly looked him over. "And it's getting better all the time," she added saucily, with appreciation.

Mutt grinned. "So, what's good, baby? Besides you."

She giggled. "Honestly? The Denver's unreal," she offered, leaning forward, offering a sweet view of her cleavage and using her pencil eraser to denote the Denver omelette on the menu. "The cook here kills."

"Was he here last night? I had a cheeseburger that was like …wow."

"Yeah, that's Bobby."

"Okay," Mutt nodded. "Lay it on me."

As the girl swayed off, giving Mutt a lovely view of her hips, the table of middle aged locals immediately behind him stared in confusion at each other.

One leaned to the man on his left and whispered, "It sounded like English, din't it?"

"Yeah… but what'n hell'd they _say_?!"

* * *

_...Colors… lights… sounds portrayed as numbers... musical notes portrayed as pulses of color… all swirling, floating, waxing and waning in intensity and hue…_

…_Is anyone there? Oh, please, someone's got to hear me, someone's got to understand this!..._

…_**We hear you, child**__. _

…_Then do something! Get me out of here! Oh, please somebody help me!_

_**...Patience. These things take time. Fear clouds.**_

…_I can't… I can't stand this anymore… I'm so scared… my family… my family is all dead…_

… _**all is at it is meant to be…**_

… _please… please someone… help me? Can't anyone please, please help me?..._

_… reds… blues… oranges… yellows… all swirling in on one another until the total conglomeration of color becomes black as rich velvet…_

* * *

Indiana had been amazed to roll over in bed and glance blearily at his watch on the nightstand and see it reading back at 9:25 a.m. He looked beside him, and Marion's place was empty, but at his touch, the sheet was still warm, so she must have just got up. He lay back and breathed. It had been a long time since he'd had such a solid night's sleep, and it felt good. He stretched luxuriously, feeling it all the way from his hair to his toes and rolled up to a sitting position.

"Marion?" he called.

"In the kitchen! Coffee's almost ready."

Indy pulled on his robe and headed out to the living area in his bare feet. He found Marion, tousled and a still a bit sleepy, yawning over the stove. He grinned. "You look like a little girl."

Marion slowly turned, a hand resting on her huge belly and a dry, disbelieving look on her face. He laughed. "Okay, from the neck _up_ you look like a little girl. Better?"

She chuckled and shook her head, reaching for two cups.

"So where's our sweet son?"

"He went to breakfast," she said, gesturing toward the note on the table.

Indy yawned, and accepted the cup she handed him, murmured with enjoyment at the kiss that accompanied it, and slid into a seat at the small dinette table, picking up the note. He shifted the note closer then further away, and sighed in frustration. _Old fart, blind as goddamned bat…_ He glanced around and saw his glasses on the other side of the table and slipped them onto his nose and picked up the note again.

"Good for him," he nodded, pleased. "Got himself up, let us know what was going on and is fending for himself."

Marion smirked at her husband. "Yeah, and he can tie his own shoes and use the bathroom all by himself, now, too."

Indy peered up at her over his glasses. "That's sass, right? You're sassing me?"

Marion stuck her tongue out at him, and turned back to the counter, where she poured her own coffee.

"I'm just saying it's nice to see him being responsible."

"And _I'm_ just saying, he's responsible more often than he isn't," said Marion reasonably. "_You_ just tend to notice the other times more frequently."

Indy sipped his coffee and rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to start the day with a fight.

Marion walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder and stroked it. "It's okay," she smiled. "I'll drop it." She carefully eased herself down into a chair. It was getting harder and harder to do that gracefully… getting up was an even more challenging endeavor. "So… what do you want to do today?"

Indy shrugged. "I don't know… maybe walk around a little before it gets too hot, see how things have changed," he smiled. "I'll show you all my old haunts, if you want. That is, if you feel up to it. The barbecue isn't until around 3:00 at Larry Collier's."

"You knew him?"

"Larry? Yeah," grinned Indy. "When I left we were sophomores, 10th grade. Even just in 10th grade, Larry was the star of the school newspaper. He was the editor, something usually given to a senior." Indy chuckled to himself and shook his head as he remembered the always dapper Larry Collier. "He dressed better than some of the girls," he remembered. "He was like Mutt, hair always had to be exactly right." Indy shook his head again, still amazed at how much time had passed. "God, it's all such a long time ago."

"Well, let me get a quick shower, we can go get some breakfast and you can show me all your old hangouts," smiled Marion.

* * *

The first place Indy took her to visit was his old house. He was actually rather surprised to find it still standing. "But it was much smaller," he said, studying the large family home. "They've added on that wing on the left, and there wasn't a garage at that time." He stood a moment, awash in memories, hearing his beloved Husky barking in greeting as he ran in from school each afternoon,seeing his mom come out to the porch to call him in to supper, or his father rocking on the porch with a cold drink and reading.

Marion reached for his hand and squeezed. "You okay, Jones?' she asked softly. He turned to her and smiled, nodding. They walked along the street, with him offering commentary on the people who'd lived in the houses all those years ago. He showed her the grammar school and the high school.

He grinned and pointed to a grove of trees and a park bench that looked about as old as Methuselah. "That, Mrs. Jones," he grinned devilishly, "is where I sneaked my first real kiss."

She turned and looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "Sneaked… in broad daylight in the middle of a park?"

"It wasn't broad daylight," he said smugly. "But there sure was a beautiful moon."

"This is amazing," Indy breathed, turning around and looking at the development. "Marion, when I was a kid this was all orchards. Grapes, apples, peaches, pears…" Indiana shook his head in amazement to see the rows and rows of relatively new housing. "I mean, this was wild country, even then! Only thirty years before that, out in those canyons," he pointed out into the distance, "Butch Cassidy's Hole in the Wall gang hid out, for heaven's sake! It was a tiny little town, I don't think there were more than five or six hundred people… Dad had to drive nearly an hour each way to the University in Logan."

"Why didn't you live in the same town as the university?" Marion wondered as they walked.

Indy shrugged. "Dad didn't want to be too accessible to his students," he said dryly. "He would rather have lost two hours a day or more in traveling than lose his privacy." He sighed. "My mother loved it here, though.

Marion said nothing, but she wondered if the decision to be so far away might have been Anna's rather than Henry, Senior's. From what Violet and Herman had said last night, it seemed as though Henry would have tried to move heaven and earth to make her happy.

"Moab was basically built on top of the ruins of Anasazi pueblo farming communities dating all the way back to the 11th and 12th centuries," Indy was saying as they walked.

"Anasazi… I've never heard of them. Are they a current tribe?" asked Marian.

Indy shook his head. "Anasazi is Navajo for 'the ancient ones,' " he explained. "They left the area sometime during the 13th century, and no one knows why. The tribe here when Europeans arrived were the Utes."

She smiled at him. "It appears you liked it here, too. At least enough to remember its history."

He chuckled and shrugged. "Our Scoutmaster was a history buff… sometimes I think I got my love of archaeology as much from him as from my father's interests in the past."

He pointed out the bookstore on the corner. "Now, THAT was there when I was a kid. That's where we bought our schoolbooks as well as any reading for pleasure," he smiled to himself. "The old fellow who owned it was a real character. All us kids thought he was half-crazy."

Marion winced and took his arm. "Indy, I really need to stop for a bit," she apologized. "I'm sorry."

"No, honey, I'm the one that's sorry." He said glancing around for a place to rest. "Looks like there's a restaurant over there. Want a cup of coffee? Or something cold?"

Gratefully, she nodded and they headed across the street.

An hour later, she and Indy were still smiling and enjoying the company of the locals, some of whom, it turned out, remembered Indy as a youngster.

"I was several years behind you in school," smiled the restaurant's owner, a still attractive woman in her fifties. "Pa, you remember Miz Jones, that pretty lady and her husband, the professor… they came out here 'round 1911? She came out here 'cos she had the consumption, remember? Then she died back in 1912 when we had the scarlet fever epidemic. This here's their boy, Junior."

Indy winced a little at the use of the old, hated name, but decided saying anything would just confuse the issue and he manfully accepted it. Marion noticed the reaction and put out her hand to clasp his with a smile.

"Sure, I remember you, son!" cackled the old man behind the cash register. "Professor Jones' boy**.** I 'member you were one o' the decent kids; yer ma and pa taught you manners. Tall, skinny kid you were, too. Bet you don't rec'lect me, though."

Indy hesitated. "No, sir, I'm sorry," he said apologetically.

"No need to be sorry," the old man grinned. "My name's Hal Wilkins." He tipped his head to one side.

Indy wracked his brain, then his brow cleared. "Wilkins… you owned the livery stable, right?"

"Good memory, boy!" nodded the old man. "We gave that up when all them automobiles started comin' through. My wife and I started up this here restaurant and my girls have been runnin' it since 1940."

Marian couldn't help grinning at her deeply masculine husband, gray-haired and distinguished, referred to as "boy."

"We used to serve John Wayne and John Ford," continued the owner, proudly. "Mr. Wayne said we made the best chili in the Southwest."

Indy grinned. "John Wayne? The actor?"

"Sure! Back in the '40s, this was where that there director, John Ford, liked to come to make his westerns," declared the old-timer. "They used to stay out to the Apache Motel. You seen it?"

"Seen it? We're staying in it!" declared Indiana.

"Well, then, there y'are."

Marion smiled indulgently as she watched her husband grin and relive old memories with these folks, until she glanced at the clock. "Indy, honey…" she said gently. "I'm sorry, but we've got to get going. The barbecue…"

"Oh, right, I forgot," he nodded, guiltily. "Sorry… there's a school reunion function later on at Larry Collier's."

"The feller who owns the paper?"

"Yep."

"Well, you tell Larry and Judy to c'mon down. They ain't been in awhile."

Indy smiled. "I'll do that, Mr. Wilkins. Thanks very much."

As they walked back to the motel, Marion grinned to herself to see Indy as excited as a boy, enthusiastically chattering all the way back down the street. This was a side of her husband she'd never seen; a boyish animation that made his son's resemblance to him even stronger.

* * *

Mutt had spent the better part of two hours wandering around the town of Moab, pretty surprised to see the broad conglomeration of all different types of people, from the obviously Western-type locals, to the just as obvious East Coast urban transplants with the beehive hairdos, tighter-than-Western blue jeans, engineer as opposed to cowboy boots… it was more than a little disconcerting. Fascinating, though.

He'd stopped at a newsstand to buy a pack of cigarettes and talked for more than half an hour to the Moab born-and-bred owner about how the town had grown so dramatically in the last forty years, especially since last year's discovery of the almost pure uranium deposit.

"I tell ya, boy, this town used to be one-horse," the man declared as his hands deftly unwrapped new editions of newspapers and magazines and shucked off brown paper wrappers, tossing each into their correct pile through years of practice. "Now?" He shook his head.

"Yeah, I gotta admit, I was pretty surprised," admitted Mutt, as he popped a piece of chewing gum in his mouth. He saw a parcel out of the man's immediate grasp and leaned over to pick it up for him and toss it over.

"Thanks," nodded the fellow. He eyed the youth, head tilted to one side. "You're not from these parts, that's for sure. Passing through, or lookin' for work?"

Mutt grinned. "Not going to be here long enough for much of a job," he admitted. "My old man used to live here. My family's visiting. Some kinda school reunion." Mutt looked around. "I've done some walking around, but haven't seen the whole town. Is there a place where people under the age of eighty hang out?" he grinned.

The newsstand owner laughed. "Yeah, a couple. The drive in theater out on 191 is a major hot spot at night, and two blocks over? Bennie's Sweet Shop. Typical soda shop, and all the under-80's hang there," he grinned.

"Thanks!" nodded Mutt. He glanced at the clock up on the corner of the bank tower and saw that it was close to 1:45 p.m. Mutt knew he was expected to at least make an appearance at the family barbecue planned this afternoon, and that meant he had to be back at the motel by ten minutes to three, so Mom wouldn't have a cow. He'd have time to do a little window shopping for eye candy, have a cold soda and then hoof it back to the motel without any problems. He strode across the street, making sure his pace was exactly right – not a run across the street, but most assuredly not a lame amble – and ran his comb through his hair before pulling open the door to Bennie's.

As soon as he walked in the door he nearly sighed in contentment; the atmosphere, finally, was _right_. The smell of frying grease mixed with chocolate and strawberry sauce and root beer, the feel of a waxed-over scuffed tile floor, the sounds of the juke box – _All right! Jerry Lee Lewis' "Great Balls of Fire," good tune!_ -- girls giggling and teenage male laughter, deriding someone for sure. _The view ain't half bad either_, Mutt decided, as he gazed with open appreciation on a couple of very well filled-out lightweight cotton-knit sweaters topped with very pretty faces. It appeared they liked their view as well, as they giggled and put their heads together, blushed and batted their well-mascaraed eyelashes at him. But Mutt quickly picked out the reason for them sitting there without male escorts; neither of 'em could have been much more than fifteen. The filling in those sweaters was probably perfectly fluffed-and-puffed Kleenex… _Jailbait! No friggin' chance, dollies!_ he thought.

Mutt summoned every ounce of cool he possessed and took his time looking around the place, saw an empty spot at a booth near the men's room. He began a calm, perfectly-paced strut to the far booth, taking in the scenery along the way. The place was filled with locals and a few greasers like himself, as well as a few L-7s and a couple of outright nerds. One or two of the locals were actually wearing cowboy hats, for Chrissake, he thought. And the dolls were pretty evenly distributed between the factions as well.

As he passed down the center aisle he got appraising looks from his fellow greasers, and he lifted an eyebrow and offered a cool nod, allowing his right hand to form a slight 'thumbs up' gesture, pumping it once gently. On the east coast, that was a traditional greaser greeting; he wasn't sure if that was true here or not, but he watched the collective stoniness of the group ease and relax. He got nods and thumbs up in return and he continued on his way to his target. Passing the locals was another scene altogether.

The cowboys leaned back in their booth seats and openly glared at him. He kept his gaze noncommittal, and returned the eye contact flinching for no one. One of the group, in particular, had a clearly hostile look on his face, and slowly leaned back, staring coldly at Mutt, spreading a long arm wide and draping it partially over the back of the bench seat, and partially over the shoulders of a pretty blonde, clearly staking his claim on her, while the other hand drummed gently on the table. He was lanky and rawboned, a big kid, who could have been good-looking but for the surly expression on his face. The blonde looked nervously at Mutt and back at her boyfriend, unsure of what was to come, just having a pretty good idea it wasn't going to be good.

Mutt slid into the booth and pushed himself deeply in so that his back was against the wall, one boot propped up on the seat while the other was on the floor. The one on the seat was the boot that held his switchblade. He could see that Mr. Personality over there was a leader of the group, since the other locals were looking to him to determine how they should react to this encroaching newcomer.

Mutt's view was suddenly cut off as a perky pair of boobs in a bullet-bra and tight-fitting uniform blouse presented themselves at his eye level. "What'll it be?"

Mutt's eyes pulled themselves off her boobs and moved up the body to a heavily made-up face and pair of eyes as hard as granite. _Whoa_. "Uh… what kind of beer you got?" he asked calmly, leaning back nonchalantly.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, planting her hands on her ample hips. "I dunno, hot shot. What kind of I.D. _you_ got?" she sneered, head tilted to one side.

_Busted!_ He grinned. "Can't blame a guy for tryin', babe. Coke."

She sniffed and stalked back to the soda fountain.

Drama finished for the moment, conversations started picking up again. Mutt sat back and puffed on a cigarette waiting for his drink to arrive and just listened to the conversations eddying around him.

"… so Harry and Donna ended up fallin' asleep at the movie theater and he didn't get her home until one a.m.!"

"No!"

"Yes! And now her old man is ready to murder poor Harry..."

"… man, I'll tell ya, that car is gonna be one sweet ride when I'm finished."

"What ya gonna do for the bad carburetor?..."

"… then Mandy went out to the old house to see if there was anything left out in the garage, and she swears she felt like someone was watching her!"

"Ewww!"

"I still don't believe they just took off like that, leaving without letting anybody in town know."

Mutt's ears perked up at that; sounded kind of odd. He listened without letting himself show he was listening.

"You know how strange that family was."

"Still, it just isn't normal to vanish over night!"

"Maybe they owed rent or something?"

"That's just it, the family owned the property… they didn't owe anybody anything. Never bought things on credit, didn't even have a bank account. I remember hearing they kept all their money in the house!"

"They were really strange people, man…"

"Uh… hello?"

Startled, Mutt glanced up. The battle-axe had disappeared, and in her place -- holding a tall, frosty glass of Coke, complete with paper-topped straw – was one very good-looking girl. Dark, dark hair, lots of it, thick and wavy, pulled back in a ponytail, great big dark brown eyes with long lashes, perfect olive skin… and she was looking at him with an amused smirk.

"Hey, baby," he breathed, in pure reaction. He immediately recovered and pulled himself upright, accepting his glass of Coke. "How's it shakin'?"

She grinned at him and shook her head. "Another greaser, huh?" she smiled.

"What happened to the cube?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean Dorrie? Her shift ended at two so she bugged out."

"Ah. Well, I gotta tell ya, doll, you're a vast improvement." His hazel eyes warmed up as he drank her in. She was tall, with a body that wouldn't quit: stacked, legs that started at her shoulders…

"Hey, Fred, cool it," she said dryly, tapping the pencil on her nose to get his eyes off her boobs, "or I'll charge you extra for the show. You want anything else?"

"Yeah," Mutt nodded, leaning back.

"What?" she asked, sighing and putting her pencil to the pad.

"I want to know your name," he grinned.

She glanced at him, and saw his warm smile, and she just couldn't help it; she smiled as well. "Bonnie," she said softly.

"Hi, Bonnie. I'm Mutt," he said, sticking out a hand.

She hesitated, glanced back toward the counter and the grill, but the young sandy-haired fellow behind the counter was busy cooking and wasn't watching. She turned back, then smiled, winked and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mutt. You just get into town? I haven't seen you before."

"Yeah," he nodded, pulling the paper off his straw and pulling on the Coke. The ice cold cola felt good as it slipped down his hot**,** dry throat.

"So, what brings you to Moab? It's not exactly on the way to anywhere," she asked curiously, draping an arm over the opposite bench top.

Mutt shrugged, leaning back again. "My old man's in town for some kinda geezer convention."

Bonnie looked at him, confused, then her brow cleared. "The grammar school reunion," she breathed, a statement, not a question.

Surprised, Mutt nodded. "Yeah. How do you know about it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Mutt, this town isn't THAT big. News like that gets around. Besides, my boss here is taking care of the bar. Tomorrow night, right?"

Mutt nodded.

"Where you staying?"

"Some hotel with a big arrow in the front," Mutt shrugged.

"The Apache," she nodded. "Hey, don't knock it," she said, straightening and heading back to the counter. "John Wayne stayed there a lot," she added, over her shoulder.

Mutt's eyes flew open in surprise, and his neck swiveled to allow his head to turn, watching her as she walked back. _She looks as good walkin' away as she does front on… John Wayne? Bull __**SHIT**__!_

"So… you're not stayin' long, right, greaser?""

Mutt's head came back around slowly, finding the Cowboy now seated in the booth across the table from him, and several of his cohorts hanging behind him. Mutt calmly eyed them all, and once again lazily brought the leg up which ended in the "loaded" boot.

"What's it to you?" He glanced around. "Seems like a big enough place to manage to have both of us in it."

Cowboy frowned. "Nah, we got us enough greasers to last us, believe me," he said darkly.

Mutt studied him, not allowing nerves to show, and slowly pulled out his comb and ran it through his pompadour, then replaced it. And by the time he did, the sweet shop's other faction had found its way to surround Mutt and back him.

Cowboy glared at them, and then looked back at Mutt. "Made some friends already, huh?"

Mutt glanced at the other jeans and t-shirt clad group and shrugged. "Never met 'em. Seem like nice people, though," he said quietly. "Friendly," he added.

"Why don't you just climb back on your motorcycle and blow?" growled the Cowboy.

Mutt leaned forward, his brows knit, his hand lazily dancing around his boot. "Mostly because _you_ want me to leave, Nosebleed," he growled softly.

In a heartbeat, as Cowboy angrily lunged to his feet, Mutt met him, with his blade drawn. "Don't do it, Clyde," he warned.

The Cowboy's eyes widened in shock at the speed with which the greaser had retaliated, but didn't dare back down; he'd lose face in front of all of his buddies if he did.

Suddenly the tension was broken as Bonnie pushed through the crowd and slapped a bill down on the table. Unexpectedly, she was staring at the Cowboy, not Mutt.

"Pay up and move it, Robbie," she said coldly.

"Just havin' a conversation here, Bonnie. Don't get your tits in a twist," he snapped at her.

Mutt was about to move, when, to his surprise, his adversary was grabbed unceremoniously from behind and propelled toward the door. Clutching the seat of his jeans and the back of his shirt was a tall, skinny but apparently strong and wiry kid of about eighteen with sandy hair and bright blue eyes. Mutt realized it was the youngster from behind the counter at the grill; the kid who had been all but invisible a few minutes ago was now a fireball of unrestrained power, daring the others to intervene so he could mete out some more of his brand of justice.

"Lemme go, Wilson!" howled the now embarrassed tough guy, struggling to get out of the other kid's grasp. "I said, lemme go!"

"Let you go? No problem, Rob," said the kid grimly, kicking open the door and shoving the Cowboy out on his ear. "Glad to oblige." He stepped to the side, kicking the door back open again and holding it open. "The rest of you, beat it!" he growled.

Mutt again stared at this kid, unable to make the connection between this formidable personality and the forgettable dude at the grill a moment ago.

"Joe, it's okay – " Bonnie said uneasily.

"No, Bonnie, it's NOT okay," he snarled. "Nobody's got the right to talk that way in here. I don't care if his family owns half the town or not. They don't own Bennie's and they sure as shit don't own you. You heard me," he growled at the other locals. "Out! All of you yahoos!

The others had hesitated, then, trying to keep their dignity, scuffed their way out of Bennie's offering verbal abuse half-heartedly, but making sure to keep their distance from Bonnie's gladiator.

Joe Wilson glanced at the greasers. "You guys plan to stay peaceful?" he demanded.

"Hey, man, we got no beef," drawled the leader, a big, sturdy guy with red hair so greased up it almost looked burgundy. "Just didn't want Clyde here," he said, gesturing at Mutt, "to get the wrong idea about our nice, peaceful little town."

Mutt grinned to himself, shaking his head in amazement at how things were shaking out.

Even Joe chuckled at that, and the tension eased. "Okay, cool." The young man came over to Mutt, wiping his hands on his apron. "Hey, sorry about that. Rob Martin's got less brains than most, and an even bigger mouth." He put out a hand in welcome.

Mutt nodded and shook the offered paw. "I can tell," he said dryly. "He your Welcome Wagon? Or is a good rumble just the kinda kicks I can look forward to while I'm here?" Joe laughed, nodding in appreciation.

Bonnie grinned at Joe. "Mutt, this is Joe Wilson. Joe? Mutt."

"Mutt. What kinda name is that?" smiled the other boy.

"The kind I picked."

Joe smiled again. "Okay, don't get frosted. I didn't mean anything by it. Hey, Bon, those burgers are just about up." He looked at Mutt. "Take care of yourself, Mutt. Rob's jets are kinda dim, but he's got friends. Keep a lookout, okay?"

Mutt nodded, and the other boy headed back to the grill. Mutt sat back down and leaned back against the padded bench, whistling softly. "Well, that ain't exactly what I had in mind when I headed out for a walk today!" he declared, feeling the adrenalin finally ease back a bit in his body.

Bonnie grinned. "So, you know anybody in town yet? I mean, your Dad show you around?"

"Nah," replied Mutt, sipping his Coke again. "We spent last night with the heat, and my parents were still out cold when I left this morning for breakfast."

"The heat?"

Mutt shrugged. "Yeah… 'parently this town's Matt Dillon was my old man's best friend way back in the Dark Ages," Mutt grumbled. "When we got in yesterday, he met us and then invited us over to the jailhouse for tea."

Bonnie stared at him a moment, startled, her eyes nearly boring through him. Then she suddenly smiled, and then burst out laughing. "You're kidding me," she breathed.

Mutt wasn't even sure if she was talking to him, she looked so funny. He decided she was. "Yeah, I am. We went over to his house, where Miss Kitty was," he grinned.

Bonnie was still grinning and shaking her head. "I'm guessing you mean Sheriff Mueller and his wife?" she giggled.

"Yeah. The guy's huge, man, like a freakin' tree walking up to ya." He shuddered. "Bet he's a badass in a rumble, even for a geezer. His old lady's pretty nice."

"Yeah?" Bonnie smirked.

"Yeah. My mom's knocked…. uh… my mom's havin' a baby, and Mrs. Mueller was especially nice to her." Mutt found himself blushing to even mention that his mother was pregnant, considering that meant he had to make the admission that his parents still…well…

Bonnie's eyebrow went up as she smirked at his discomfort.

Mutt drew in a breath and quickly changed the subject. "Y'know, it was a real kick seeing my old man talkin' about stuff that happened when they both were kids in short pants," Mutt chuckled.

Suddenly, he noticed the time and got to his feet, tossing some money onto the table. "Hey, I gotta get going. There's some shindig, a command performance, tonight," he sighed. He looked at her, deep into her beautiful dark, dark eyes… _Wow_. "You… uh… you seeing… anybody?" he asked awkwardly. _Suave, Mutt, real suave..._

She flushed pink, and looked down. There were a couple of giggles in the background and her pink turned red. "Why?" she asked.

"Because if you want we could maybe see a flick together, or ride out to the desert or somethin'."

"Maybe. I'll see you around, Mutt," she said, heading toward the counter.

Mutt started for the door, then realized he had no idea how to find her again and turned back. "Hey, what's your last name?"

"Jackson. Bonnie Jackson," she answered.

"You working here tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Like I said, Mutt… I'll see you around," she promised, heading into the storeroom out of his sight.

Mutt was so caught up with what had happened in the last hour, he missed seeing the troubled look on Joe Wilson's face as he glanced through the storeroom swinging door's windows and saw Bonnie Jackson's pink cheeks as she stood, breathing hard and staring into space with a big smile on her face… she was clearly happy and excited to have met this young James Dean. Joe swallowed hard, and turned back to his grill**,** frowning.

* * *

…once more, the eddying swirls of consciousness ebb and flow, touching vision on the outer edge of perception, sound just outside of the realm of human hearing, touching without making physical contact…

…_We gather to honor the Mother… we gather to pay homage to the Goddess…_

… the consciousness seems to grow, seems to attract more thought, more energy, more minds into the throng until in this place outside of places, this moment outside of time, there is truly a gathering…

…the words are Latin… English… Romany… ancient… the language is current… dead… the language is thought, unspoken… words, unwritten… emotion, raw power…

… thought wraps itself around concept and communicates, and slowly, surely the collective consciousness pulses as one…

…_overseeing the ritual the huge, silver globe rules the skies… the Goddess shines forth over all who participate in this gathering of consciousness … She sees all, as the God, the ball of fiery light, sleeps on the other side of awareness…_

… _in words as ancient as time itself, the sacred space is cleansed and prepared … the infinite and yet still finite sacred circle is cast… the quarters are called… gods and goddesses of the East… the South… the West… the North… a clarion call to Spirit… all these are called upon to oversee and participate in the ritual… _

… _the ritual athame's blade is fire, the ritual chalice is a human vessel, a silver cup, hands, flesh, cupped and shimmering, to receive water and intuition… athame and chalice are joined… male to female… their union brings forth new fire, uniting all thoughts… all emotions… all minds… _

… _the energy pulses and soars, expands and contracts… the collective energies pulse as a hammering individual heart on the run, and yet no one moves…there is no one __to__ move… all is thought… all is energy…_

… _as the High Priestess forms the necessary lightweaving to gather the Mother, the cone of energy begins to build… to pulse… the electricity of the moment could fire the human world with its intensity!... at precisely the right moment, she releases it, and draws down the moon…_

… _infinite minds reel … incorporate bodies fall… nonexistent vessels shatter… unheard sound fails… invisible sight ebbs… _

…_pulsing slowly… slowly… slowly returns to a level, even beat… _

… _the collective gathers once more and the circle safely incorporates the energy given in gift from the Goddess…and grounds itself into Mother Earth…_

…_the High Priestess offers homage and thanks to each of the deities sharing in the ritual… thanks and releases the Mother… deities and energies of the North… the West… the South… and the East…. Slowly, gently… she releases the sacred circle… and, one by one, the minds bid farewell and return from whence they came…_

… _until at last naught but the Goddess is there, sailing through the skies, silvery and constant, ever watching..._

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Indiana Jones and the Adventure of the Mystic's Cave**_

**Chapter Four Summary: **Marion is surprised: Mutt keeps his temper; Indy loses his! And our mystery begins to unfold.

**Setting**: July, 1958, post KoTCS

**Characters**: Indy/Marion/Mutt, probably Oxley and a couple of new OCs, applicable to this story; possibility of some recurring OCs as well; the return of some old friends; I'm not yet sure. Like Indy, "I'm making this up as I go along."

**Rating**: T (for language, and a little – _ahem_! – marital aerobics)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Indiana Jones, Marion, Mutt, Oxley or any of the characters and characterizations notable to the Indiana Jones franchise, and have no desire to commit copyright infringement. However, any original characters and the storyline itself ARE mine.** :-) Please consider the MacGuffin for this story copyrighted. **

**Additional Disclaimer:** I know jack about motorcyle engines, so if you do, have pity on me and just say, "Well, she _**tried**_ to make it sound like it made sense."

**Acknowledgement: **

**There once was a Jones-fan-type beta  
Who's talent came soonah than latah..  
She got spelling right  
And the grammar was tight  
So that joy in the readin' was greatah!**

:-) I'm no poet, but my beta is something else, let me tell ya. O Beta'O'Mine, thank you for all you've done to help this story along.

Happy reading, folks! Reviews welcomes and appreciated. :-)

* * *

"You've done yourself proud, Larry, this is quite a get together."

"Well, Judy and I've wanted to have a big outdoor party anyway, and this seemed like a good time for it." Larry Collier handed off a cold beer to the handsome looking woman standing in front of him. "Let the families all get together before tomorrow night's big reunion dinner, you know?"

"Thanks," she grinned, knocking back a swig. "So, is what I hear true? Henry Jones is back in town?"

Larry grinned. "You heard right, Lil. Herman and Violet had him and his family over yesterday afternoon for drinks after they got in."

Dr. Lilian Franks, Moab's veterinarian, shook her head with a grin. "Unbelievable. Of all the people that have left this place, the last one I'd ever have expected to ever come back was Henry Jones, Jr."

The two looked over the big patio area and the large, in-ground swimming pool that graced the area next to the house. People were all over the place, members of their class, a couple of the next generation and even a few grandchildren running around. And Larry was pleased to see that people seemed to be having fun. There weren't that many of them, after all. There had been only 38 kids in their 8th grade class that year, and of the 38, they'd lost a few. Several of the boys, John Mackie, Howie Bennett, Nelson Leeds… they'd died in the war. Several more from other causes. And some had moved away never to be heard from or about again. So when the reunion committee had a final tally of names for this big do, all they had were 24 names. Of the 24, only sixteen had responded to the invitations. But it was still so good to see so many together again.

"I can't get over how Donna French changed," Larry whispered to Lil with a grin. "She was always such a frump, and look at her! Good God, she looks great for almost sixty." Donna was over next to Judy Collier, looking at Judy's desert rock garden and talking about plants, and looked closer to 40 than her real age. "Hell, she looks great for _fifty_!"

Lil giggled. "She does, doesn't she? Marriage to a rich man agreed with her, apparently."

"Money can buy a lot of plastic surgery. How about a refill, Larry?"

Lil and Larry turned to see Louise Martin holding out a highball glass. She was slightly bleary-eyed and unsteady as it was. The redhead-from-a-bottle had once been quite a beauty, but now was more faded than fresh, and yearning to be young rather than carrying her age well. Louise was the wife of the town's used car dealer, Douglas "Dealin' Dougie" Martin, and pretty much the town shrew.

"How about switching to coffee, Lou?" asked Larry congenially.

"I'm not driving, and you're not my father. Gimme a drink, Larry."

Lil raised an eyebrow at her old playmate and murmured, "Excuse me, but I see Stan Johnson over there… haven't seen him in twenty years."

Louise glared over the rim of the glass Larry handed her at Lil's retreating back. "Judgmental old dyke," she muttered.

Shocked, Larry stared at her. "Louise, there are kids here. And I don't tolerate that kind of talk in my house."

"Oh, get off your high horse, Lawrence," she snapped back. "You were one of the leaders of the pack back in high school; you gave her just as much of a hard time!"

"Yeah, when I was a stupid, insensitive adolescent ass," he growled at her, fiercely, making her step back a pace. "The difference is, _I grew up_."

Louise tried to regain her composure and started to sneer back, but Larry stopped her abruptly. "I mean it, Louise. Get your mouth under control or I'm cutting you off." The patio gate squealed open right at that point and Larry and Louise turned to see Herman and Violet Mueller arrive with a tall, well-built, good-looking man and a very pregnant dark-haired woman in tow, with some Marlon Brando wanna-be trailing behind them. Larry glared at Louise in warning once more, then headed off to greet the party's latest arrivals.

Louise's eyes narrowed as she studied the newcomers, and then an electric jolt of recognition hit her as he turned to speak to someone and his blue/gray/green eyes sparkled in the sunshine. "Indiana Jones… well, I'll be damned," she breathed, as her eyes narrowed.

Indy was astonished to see all these people from his childhood and realize that he actually remembered them, and they him… remembered the antics they'd pulled, agonizing together over dreaded tests and examinations, the fun they'd shared. "Marion, this is Lil Franks… oh, is it still…?"

"Yes, it is," she grinned. "I married my practice."

Indy's eyes sparkled. "Then you did it, Lil. You went to vet school!"

Lilian laughed aloud, delighted. "You remembered."

"How could I forget it? Doctoring animals is all you talked about. I knew if any girl could find a way to break into veterinary medicine it'd be you," he said warmly. "Oh, Lil, I'm glad."

"Thanks, Jun… sorry, Indy," she blushed.

He chuckled. "It doesn't bother me quite as much as it used to, but I still prefer Indiana," he admitted. "Lil, I'd like you to meet my wife."

"Marion, right?" Lil smiled, holding out a hand.

'Right," grinned Marion.

"I'm so glad you decided to come out for this, especially in your condition!"

Marion shrugged. "I'm going to be pregnant no matter where I am, and I wanted to get to know some of the people who knew him all those years ago," she smiled.

Mutt hung back, a little uncomfortable. He didn't know anybody, and there seemed to be no one here his age, all were either the dinosaurs from his father's class, or little kids. It was going to be a long few hours…

"Hello, I'm Dr. Lil Franks… your dad and I shared a lab desk in biology back in the dark ages." Lilian grinned at Mutt, putting out her hand.

"Hi," he nodded, politely accepting her hand and shaking it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Mutt."

"Mutt?" she questioned, startled.

Indy rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he sighed. "Apparently, my son doesn't like 'Henry' any more than I did," he sighed, giving up any hope that the kid just might make life easier and introduce himself as Henry Jones. Marion fought back a giggle.

Lil shrugged and laughed. "Hey, it's your name, kiddo," she grinned at the boy. She tipped her head to the side, studying him. "You have his eyes, but the shape of your face is your mom's." Mutt sighed uncomfortably, and Lil laughed again. "I'm sorry… I guess being in the medical profession, genetics interests me. What interests you?"

"Bikes," he replied, without even thinking, then blushed. _Lame, moron, how lame can you get? _He tried to imagine how long he'd be able to continue being polite here without going out of his mind.

"Harley? Or BSA?"

Mutt's eyes snapped open. "You know bikes?"

"I know people who know bikes," she grinned back.

"Mine's a Harley, but the BSA Golden Flash, the A10? Man, what a sweet machine!" he enthused.

She nodded. "Okay, I've got someone you've gotta meet." She turned a moment, looking around and spotted her prey. "Charlie! Charlie, c'mere!"

Near the food table, a medium-built man with thinning salt-and-pepper hair, a strong, sturdy body, and a pair of the most beautiful, intelligent emerald green eyes Marion had ever seen looked up, caught Lil's eye and nodded, heading over. "Hi, Lil, good to see you." He looked up a little at Indiana, as though trying to place him, and then his eyes widened, and he smiled on honest pleasure. "Henry! Henry Jones, for heaven's sake! I never expected to see you here!" He shifted his drink into his left hand and stretched his right out with a broad smile. "You might not remember me, Charlie Greene."

Recognition hit Indy then. "Of course, Charlie, I remember you," he smiled. "The kid I fought hard for the 9th grade history prize… and ended up losing it to." Both of them laughed at that one. "How've you been?"

"Pretty good, thanks," the other man responded, a little shyly.

"Pretty good doesn't begin to cover it," smiled Lil. "Charlie, this is Henry's wife, Marion, and their son, Mutt."

They exchanged pleasantries, and Mutt was a little surprised to note that his nickname presented no difficulties to the man at all.

"Charlie's done really well for himself," Lil went on, smiling at her friend. "He owns the local auto and motorcycle repair shop, best for miles around. AND put that genius level brain to work on investing. He got in on the ground floor of the uranium discoveries here in Moab… doesn't have to work another day in his life, but he does," she teased.

"Lil, geez,' he protested, blushing. He turned to Indy, and smiled, shrugging a little self-consciously. "I like working on engines, that's all. It's fun for me, and I'm lucky in that it's a good living."

Mutt was beaming from ear to ear, and eyeing his father with a knowing look on his face, which Indy worked hard to ignore.

"Don't let him kid you, Mutt," Lil said seriously. "Charlie was the brightest kid in our class. Money was the only thing that kept him out of college…that and having to take care of his mom and his sisters. He was always good with engines, so he started his own shop."

Charlie smiled, shyly. "There's just nothing like the sound of a Harley engine throttling… I love 'em." He began talking with enthusiasm about his various motorcycles and the work he was doing in trying to improve the efficiency of the engines, and Mutt was hanging on every single word. Indy nearly groaned as he watched Mutt's eyes nearly glass over; the kid was in hog heaven.

Charlie was continuing, "I was thinking of trying to tool a Harley engine into my Ducati DOHC."

"But the Harley's a V-twin," objected Mutt, speaking up suddenly for the first time. "The firing order won't match the Ducati."

Charlie turned to the boy, and raised an eyebrow. "You know bikes." It was a statement, not a question.

"I know my way around, yeah."

"What do you have?"

"A 1953 Harley K," Mutt said proudly.

Charlie whistled. "That's a sweet bike, man. You do your own work?"

"Yeah," the boy said, his eyes shining. "But, the Ducati… it's a racer, isn't it? Double overhead cam, with …" Mutt snapped his fingers, trying to remember, "… it's a 125 cc, right?"

"Right. And if I can just figure out how I can tweak the angle of degree…"

Lil chuckled, and turned back to Marion and Indy. "Okay, I've done my job…kept Charlie from being too nervous and self-conscious to talk to people and helped a bored teenager pass a few minutes," she said softly. "I'm going to go talk to Betty Hastings and her husband. I'll see you."

Indiana stood to the side, aching inside as he finally saw the enthusiasm and excitement in his son he'd hoped, someday, to see applied to an education. There was no mistaking it: Mutt loved mechanics, absolutely loved it. And from the sound of the conversation, which was mostly over Indy's head, it appeared the boy knew what he was talking about. _Am I wrong to keep pushing Mutt toward college? _he wondered, forlornly.

Marion watched her husband, and gently took his hand. Finally, he was seeing what she'd seen two years ago. This wasn't a passing phase for Mutt. It was a passion, as much a passion for their son as archaeology was to Indiana.

Suddenly Charlie and Mutt seemed to realize they'd been having a rather isolated conversation and turned back to Marion and Indy. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to monopolize Mutt like that," apologized Charlie with a grin. "But I love it when I see a really bright kid so enthused with the intricacies of this kind of stuff. Proves they can take the theoretical and make it practical." He turned to the boy. "And make no mistake. You _are_ a bright kid. You ought to turn that capable mind of yours to mechanical engineering."

Mutt made a face. "Again with school," he groaned, while Indy, startled, perked up a bit. This was taking a different direction than he'd thought. Marion nearly giggled; Indy's ears had practically swiveled around like rabbit ears on a television…

Charlie laughed, and poked the youngster gently in the chest with his forefinger. "Don't knock school, kid. I've got six hoods like you training in my shop right now, all with the understanding that they'll go on to college after graduation. I don't care if it's only junior college, they've got to try, or they give up the job to someone else who will." He grinned at Indy and winked, shrugging. "Hey… Estelle and I couldn't have kids of our own. So I pay a good wage, help them keep their jalopies and bikes running, and tutor 'em in physics and math to help keep their grades up. They're all good kids, just lacking focus. They're usually the ones the school wants to just 'pass out' to get 'em out of their hair. Well, one of those 'losers' is now the lead engineer at the Harley Davidson plant in Pennsylvania."

Okay, now he had _really_ Mutt's attention. The young man looked at his father's old classmate curiously. "He designs bikes?"

"Yep. And oversees eight or ten other design engineers. He put the time and the effort in, and got himself accepted at Clarkson School of Engineering. Graduated in the top 10 of his class. Did some time in the service, during the war, with the Army Corps of Engineers. Kept him a helluva lot safer than the infantry, and now the guy's making money like Rockefeller," grinned Charlie. "But if he'd dropped out like he planned…" The man shrugged. He picked up his head as he heard his name called and looked across the patio to an attractive older woman standing with Herman Mueller, waving at him. "I'm sorry, my wife's calling me over for something," he apologized. "You'll be around for a few days, anyway, right, Henry? We can catch up more later?"

"Yeah, we're not heading back to Connecticut for awhile," nodded Indy with a smile.

"Good. Marion, I look forward to talking with you… anybody who'll put up with Henry has to be a saint. Mutt, nice meeting you. Keep your hands in those engines, kid! And think about RPI."

"RPI?" Mutt asked, confused, though Indy was grinning with delight.

"Rennselaer Polytechnic Institute, in New York, near Albany," rattled off Charlie as he started toward his wife. "Great engineering school, and it's nearer to Connecticut than some of the others!" he called over his shoulder.

Mutt watched the man walk off, thinking hard, and Marion all but stomped on Indy's instep to stop him from keeping the conversation going. Indy was still a rookie at learning when to shut up and let Mutt's own thought processes do Indy's work for him.

"Ow!"

Mutt turned back, seeing Indy wincing, and rubbing the top of his foot against the back of his other leg, while Marion looked off into the crowd. "What's the matter?"

"Twisted my ankle," Indy grunted, with a small glare at his innocent-looking wife.

"What, standing still?" Mutt asked, incredulous.

"There's a pothole here," Indiana defended himself. "Honey, let's go over and talk to Larry and his wife… what the heck was her name…"

"Judy."

"Right! She was a couple years behind us, I think…" Indy turned to Mutt. "You want a Coke or something?"

"Nah. You guys go ahead, I'm gonna walk around," answered Mutt, still obviously thinking over what he'd just heard from Charlie Greene.

Marion and Indy looked at each other, then headed toward the Colliers.

Mutt stuck his hands in his pockets and walked slowly around the yard, not really looking at anyone in particular. Designing bikes… he'd often though about things he'd like to do to soup up his Harley. It never occurred to him that he could actually do that for a living…

"Hey, stranger."

Mutt turned around in surprise, recognizing that voice immediately. Sure enough, the thick black, wavy hair, big dark eyes, pert little nose and classy chassis. "Bonnie!"

She grinned at him.

"What are _you_ doin' here?" he asked, pleasantly surprised.

She laughed then, and pointed toward Herman and Violet. "They're my grandparents, Mutt," she grinned mischievously.

Remembering their conversation at the sweet shop, he groaned, and flushed. "God, I'm glad I didn't say anything really bad about 'em."

She giggled and plunked herself down on the picnic table bench beside him. "Me, too. I love Gramma and Gramps to pieces. They're the best."

"Okay, I get that the sheriff and Mrs. Mueller are your grandparents… but why are you _here_?" he asked.

"My parents are away on a trip and I was informed that 17 is too young to be home by myself," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "So, I'm staying with them until Mom and Dad get back. I just missed you, actually, last night. I got in from work about ten minutes after you guys left."

Mutt smirked. "And you decided that none o' this was necessary to tell me today at the soda place," he observed. "Just kinda kept feeding me rope to hang myself, right?"

She looked innocently at him. "Don't know what you're talkin' about , Mutt." Impishly, she winked at him, then scanned the crowd. "So, where's your dad?"

Mutt looked around and spotted Indy standing next to the chaise lounge where his mother was relaxing and talking – with a kind of sour look on his face, actually -- to some dude who looked like he'd once been a 1920s sheik and was wishing he still could be: somewhat loud clothes, haircut that was inappropriate to his age… The cougar hanging onto his arm and knocking back highballs while ogling Mutt's old man was looking pretty long in the tooth, as well._ Sheesh…_

"There he is, talking to that aging Frankie Avalon. Doesn't look like he's having fun, either," Mutt chuckled.

Bonnie snorted with laughter. "That's Doug Martin, Dealing Dougie's Used Cars," she chuckled, then shuddered. "What a sleaze he is. Ugh." She studied the now infamous Indiana Jones. "Yeah, he's a fox."

"Martin?" Mutt asked, confused.

"No, silly. God, gag me…. I meant your dad. He's a real silver fox."

Mutt stared at her in shock. "C'mon, I don't want to hurl up a great burger," he shuddered.

She continued to study Indiana, and nodded, smiling. "Yeah, you could do a lot worse than to grow up to look like him. That's your mom, sitting next to him?"

"Yeah."

"She's beautiful, Mutt." The girl smiled up at him. "How you holdin' up?"

He shrugged. "Not bad for bein' at a geezer convention," he grinned. "How 'bout you?"

"I can think of places I'd rather be," she said softly.

He looked at her fully. "Would you grandparents care if you cut out?"

"I can ask; I don't think they'd mind. They're cool. Your parents?"

"I'm 19, for God's sake," he scoffed… not really answering her question. His mind began spinning… _she's gotta know a place we could park and get to know each other_. "C'mon, they're standing together, let's go ask 'em. Maybe your Gramps'll give my parents a ride back to the motel and we can use the car."

"Car?"

"Yeah, we rented a '57 Impala."

"Get out!"

He leaned forward, as if sharing a state secret. "A ragtop."

"Crazy!"

"C'mon…"

* * *

Indy hesitated, glanced at Marion, who was smiling sweetly up at him, then at Herman, who looked as filled with consternation as he was. _Leave it to the kid to put me in a bind like this!_ he groaned to himself. It would figure that it would be the women who saved the night for the kids, though.

"It's got to be boring for them, Indy, with nothing but us old timers around," Marion was saying, reasonably. "And it's Saturday night. They could go see a movie, or Bonnie could just show him around. What's the harm?"

"For heavens' sake, Herman, how much trouble could they get into?" scoffed Violet.

Herman and Indy both stared at her, askance, making Marion giggle. "Violet, I think they're attributing antics of their own misspent youth to Bonnie and Mutt."

"Well, Lord knows they pulled enough stunts in their time, but _really_…"

"Violet, it's just that we're responsible while Annie and Mike are away, and – "

"Now, Marion – "

Violet and Marion both stared at them. The kids stood by anxiously.

Herman sighed and scratched his head. "All right, all right, I can see I haven't got a prayer here." He drew in a deep breath, and rested his hands on his hips, leveling his best law enforcement eyes at Mutt. "Understand me, boy: you are carrying mighty precious cargo."

"Yes, sir. I won't let anything happen to her," Mutt nodded, nervously.

"Thanks, Gramps! You're the best!" grinned Bonnie, bouncing up and kissing his cheek, totally destroying the firm and stern persona.

"Home by midnight, young lady, you understand?"

"Gramps, I'm seventeen, for Pete's sake," she started to complain, until Mutt stepped right over her, taking her hand and pulling her back a bit.

"I'll have her home by midnight, Sheriff. Thanks!" he said hurriedly, turning to his father for the keys.

Indy dangled them for a moment out of Mutt's reach. "Rental, Junior. Remember that. This isn't your Harley."

Mutt blushed. "C'mon, Pops," he muttered, snatching the keys and shaking his head in annoyance.

"_Harley!_ You drive a motorcycle?!" Herman demanded, eyes narrowing.

Violet rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink. "Herman, for Heaven's sake, go have a beer."

"He's a good driver, Herman, really," Indy reassured his old friend. As he watched how protective Herman was over his granddaughter, Indy started to wonder, uneasily, if he was really sure he wanted this new little one to be a girl… "Mutt, I'm not kidding," he warned, his eyes clearly stating, _"be good!"_

"Behave yourself, Barbara Ann," warned Violet. "Don't get this nice young man into any trouble."

Mutt's head swung around in surprise, and Bonnie rolled her eyes once again, dragging him off toward the driveway. "Yes, ma'am," she said through her teeth. "Mutt, come _on_!"

Violet and Marion chuckled as the two men looked after the teenagers with apprehension.

"Poor dears, they really don't handle this kind of stuff really well, do they?" smiled Marion to Violet. "Jones, help me up."

Indy turned from the view of disappearing teenagers and turned around to his wife, helping her to her feet.

"Let's go get something to eat, and you can introduce me to some of your old friends. Let's hear about all the hell _you_ two raised around their age," she suggested, making Violet crow with laughter.

* * *

"… so the next thing we knew, there was Indy, hauling ass out of the chemistry room while clouds of sulfur were lofting down the halls!" laughed Herman to the guffaws of laughter and Indy sitting there looking a little shamefaced, to Marion's delight. "I don't think old Cameron ever found out who was responsible, did he? Brother, was he furious!"

"If he did, it was after I left," chuckled Indy. "That was one session with the Vice Principal I managed to avoid." The laughter bubbled up again, and the women all looked at each other mouths twisted in confused smiles.

"How they can _laugh_ about a paddling from Old Vic Denton, I'll never know," declared Lillian, shuddering.

"It's a guy thing, Lil," observed Marion. "Like a form of testosterone poisoning…it's a rite of passage or something."

That made the women laugh, then. All but Louise Martin. Louise sat on the outer edges of the group, continuing to drink heavily while her husband frankly ogled Donna French, making Donna frankly uncomfortable and her husband, Bobby, frankly pissed as hell.

"I can remember a time you got yourself into hot water, Sheriff Mueller," chuckled the quietest member of the group, Charlie Greene. Charlie sat next to his wife, Estelle, a still-pretty blonde-haired woman with gentle, sad eyes.

"Only one, Charlie?" joked Indy, sipping his beer, and wincing as Marion elbowed his side, causing more laughter.

"Well, no, there was definitely more than one," the other man chuckled, "but few were as memorable. I'm referring to senior year… the fine crop of squash and corn that was showing up on the football field?"

"Oh, Gawd…" groaned Herman, blushing.

"What?"

"The football coach that year was a real jackass," explained Herman, still blushing furiously while the rest of the group roared with laughter at his discomfort. "And he kept calling us farmers and shitkickers, and just generally putting us down. He was from the 'big city' of Salt Lake," he intoned, rolling his eyes. "So, since he felt we were such farmers, I thought it might not be a bad idea to live up to his expectations… You forgot about the pumpkins, Charlie," Herman pointed out.

Laughter and stories of what they'd all been doing for the last 40 years rolled around the group for a couple of hours until the gorgeous sunset over the desert and the mountains glowed with nearly impossible purples, pinks and oranges. Several of Indy's old girlfriends smiled indulgently to see him absently holding his pregnant wife's hand while he chatted and talked, and saw the total lack of 'ownership' present in the couple, and instead a very real, and very gentle connection. Some sighed longingly, thinking how long it had been since their husbands had done the same, and others remembered their own times of tenderness with their spouses.

Marion relaxed back into the reclining lounge, totally comfortable. She was having a good time, Indy was having a good time, and everyone seemed so nice. Every once in awhile, though, the devilish part of her mind wondered what these prim and proper church ladies would think of her husband when he wasn't doing his day job; she had a feeling that knowledge of his having killed at least three times as many people over the last 50 years than were attending this barbecue might put a damper on the festivities… She giggled to herself as she imagined some of the expressions.

When Indy looked at her, inquiringly, she shook her head, struggling to keep from laughing. He raised an eyebrow and grinned himself, wondering what in the world was going through her mind, but was drawn back into the conversation around him.

"So, Moab is just as normal and everyday as it always was, hm?" he smiled, sipping his beer.

The locals glanced at each other, as though wondering whether or not to tell him something. Herman and Violet were on the outskirts of the group, and said nothing, though they watched the goings on intently.

"Well, actually, we have kind of had a mystery of sorts," said Larry, thoughtfully.

"Oh?" Indy raised an eyebrow.

"You remember the Munsons, don't you, Indy?"

Blankly, Indy scrolled his memory trying to place a family by that name. "… no," he mused. "No, I don't think so."

"Sure you do!" scoffed Larry Collier, noticing Indy's beer was all but finished and handed him another. "The family, old man and a woman, and all daughters, out on the edge of town, toward Sand Flats."

Indy's forehead scrunched, and then cleared. "Oh! Out by the cemetery, you mean? The family that…" he hesitated.

"Yeah, them," nodded Denise French, meaningfully.

"Why? What about them?" asked Marion, curious.

"They kept to themselves a lot," Indy said, carefully.

"They were nuts," sneered Doug Martin, pouring himself yet another Scotch.

Indy glanced coldly at Martin, and then turned back to Marion. "They kept to themselves," he repeated. "Mrs. Munson was from… southern Europe somewhere… Italy, if I remember right," he mused, trying to remember. "He met her when he was traveling in Europe in the 1880s. But what about them?"

"Well, there's a new chapter in the Munson Book of Strange," said Denise French, quietly, with others in the crowd nodding in agreement. "About four months ago, the whole family disappeared, lock, stock and barrel."

Indy's eyes widened a bit. "What, the whole family?"

"The whole family," nodded Larry. "The old man died in about… oh, God, must've been the late twenties," he mused, trying to remember. "Long before the war, at any rate. Old Miz Munson raised their daughters out there, and after he died, a few of her relatives came over from Europe. Some of the girls married, but never any boys from around here. Interestingly, they all stayed pretty close together, kind of building a compound out there near Salt Flats Road. Five or six houses, all together. Like you said, they kept to themselves, though they weren't bad neighbors. Just really solitary, you know?" He glanced at the others in the group for corroboration and Indy and Marion watched heads nod.

"One day, they were all there, and the next day, the whole compound was deserted," said Jeff Hastings, a soft-spoken boy who'd grown into a soft-spoken man selling insurance to the town. "Dinner plates on the tables… cars in the garages… clothes in the closets… creepiest thing I've ever seen."

Confused, Indy glanced at Herman, who silently nodded. "What… you mean, it was like they were snatched? What about a struggle?"

"No sign of any struggle," Herman replied quietly. "Strangest damned thing I ever saw. It was like one minute they were there, and the next minute they weren't."

"But…" Indy swallowed. "How many people?"

"Thirty-six altogether," replied Violet softly. "Twelve of them are children, between the ages of four and seventeen." She winced as though just the statement hurt her, and looked down at her hands, her right hand twisting her wedding ring over and over again.

"Authorities were called in?"

Herman nodded. "FBI, CIA… hell, even the military got involved at one point, but… " he shrugged. "The case is still open officially, but everyone's hit a dead end."

Silence fell over the group, and Indy's brow was furrowed in thought.

"Didn't we have enough pain associated with that time four months ago?" demanded Betty Lehman, irritably. "This is supposed to be a celebration, for pity's sake! Let's not dwell on things that can't be changed."

Slowly, conversation began to pick up again once more, though it never quite reached the level of lightness it had enjoyed prior to the story of the mysterious Munson family.

As the sun went down and the Japanese paper lanterns Judy and Larry Collier had stretched around the backyard lit the area with charming ambience, the evening grew cooler and sweaters and jackets were donned, people gathering closer together for warmth and more conversation.

"I can't get over how much growth this town has seen since we left," Indy shared, as he handed Marion a cup of coffee. He was proud of her. She had told him she didn't want to drink while carrying this baby; said the kid had enough strikes against it with a mother and father their age, and that it didn't need to be pickled prior to birth. Even today, she'd stuck with her promise, though he could tell that as soon as that child was born, he'd better have a bottle of scotch nearby…

"Yeah, well, ever since the summer of '52, when that geologist Charlie Steen found that mother lode of uranium out near Big Indian Wash – " started Charlie Greene.

"Lisbon Valley, right? Southeast of town?" mused Indy.

"Yeah, that's right… called it the _Mi Vida,_" chuckled Charlie, "well, we fast became the largest producer of uranium in the world. And our biggest client is the US government. That's why you're seeing so much development."

Indy whistled. "I'd heard there was a strike, but I didn't realize it was that extensive," he admitted.

"The speculators are likening it to the Gold Rush of the 1850s," nodded Larry. "This town exploded, Indy. Remember how small we were? Hell, if there were 500 people in this town in 1912, I'd be being generous with my figures. Now? We're averaging 6000 a year."

"Can the town's infrastructure hold up?" asked Indy, sipping his beer.

"No," chuckled Larry, shaking his head.

"Don't you go sayin' that, Larry!" protested Doug Martin, pushing through the crowd. "We're buildin' new schools and churches… whole community's comin' up!"

"What about water supply? Sewers? Hospitals? Highways?" asked Indy quietly. "Can you meet that kind of growth?"

Doug's eyes narrowed. "We'll do just fine, Jones, don't you worry about it," he scowled.

Indy shook his head and shrugged, sipping his beer. _Do NOT let Dougie Martin pull you down to his level_, he kept warning himself…

"Our little 38-member class is a thing of the past now, Indy. They graduated close to 600 this year," Violet shared. "Had to split commencement up into morning and afternoon sessions."

"I'd guess all the teachers are gone now, huh?" asked Indy, wistfully.

"Yeah, all but Miss Anderson," nodded Violet. "Bless her heart, she's still going strong, sharp as a tack. Every time she sees me at the grocery she quizzes me on World History," she chuckled.

"Well, you were the teacher's pet, weren't you," sneered Louise, causing an uncomfortable silence.

"Henry… I'm sorry, I keep forgetting… Indy, you're pretty involved in history yourself, these days, I hear," said Charlie calmly. "Archaeology… right?"

"Right," nodded Indy, smiling at the other man.

"Are you planning any excavations now?"

"No, not this year. With the baby coming, I felt this would be a good year to let someone else handle the summer dig. They're back in Mexico, though." And Indy began talking about the Mayan dig he'd left behind last summer. Discovering the massive Mayan find in that cave in the Yucatán just before being unceremoniously yanked out by the Russians last year… well, Indy left that part out, but shared the interesting discovery of the Mayan calendar. The entire circular floor of the cave was laid out in an elaborate calendar wheel, the outer ring telling of the Mayan Genesis myth and culminated in the center ring, with a Mayan date that seemed to point to the end of the world, apparently scheduled for December 21, 2012. Those around him hung on his every word, and Marion smiled with pride to see his old friends listening with such interest. _He really is a good teacher; a pity Mutt fights listening to him so damned hard._ _If he'd just relax a little, my stubborn brat just might actually learn something._

At the outer edge of the group, Louise Martin's eyes grew wistful as she saw the cute young pup she'd always had a crush on – now a handsome dog, indeed! – hold court to the interest of everyone there. Well, everyone but her idiot husband, who was obviously resenting Indy once again being the center of attention. _Yeah, there he goes_, she thought bitterly, as she watched Dougie wind himself up.

"Weren't you the one who was always complaining your old man was more interested in things and people that were long dead, than in you?" laughed Doug Martin nastily, his voice taking on a definite sneer. "Sounds like you ended up the same way, _Junior… _Like father, like son."

Marion's eyes narrowed. _Mean-spirited little prick…bet there's a story there… what in the world did you do to piss __him__ off, Jones?_

Under normal circumstance, Indiana wouldn't react to this kind of adolescent pissing match; it just wasn't his style, particularly when he knew he could annihilate the bastard with one sucker punch. But there was just something about Doug Martin… there had _always_ been something about Doug Martin, even when they were kids in short pants. He was like an itch under Indy's skin, and his goading brought Indy right back to his early teens; just as touchy and just as vulnerable.

"Yeah, I guess I did, Doug. I can think of worse men to emulate than my father," Indy said calmly, forcing himself to count to ten.

Violet Mueller looked up in surprise at Indy's words, and her eyes narrowed. _Uh oh, here we go… _She glanced around for her husband, and spotted him fifty feet away, talking to Donna French and her husband. The intensity of her gaze seemed to burn a hole in Herman's back, and raising his head suddenly, he turned around to find its source.

"Whazzat supposed to mean?" snarled Doug at Indy, lumbering upright with his fists cocked.

Larry sighed, frustrated. "Dougie, why don't you just put a sock in it?" he grunted.

"Whatever you want it to mean… _Dougie_," Indy declared, contempt lacing every syllable as he got gracefully to his feet. It had been common knowledge to Doug's contemporaries that Doug Martin's old man was an inveterate alcoholic, who'd abused his wife and his children while hiding behind the guise of church leader, store owner and community "elder." The old man's hypocrisy, Indy knew, was part of what made Dougie the pain in the ass that he was; but knowing it didn't stop the guy from annoying the living daylights out of Indiana.

Marion uneasily set her glass down, recognizing the set of her husband's face. "Indy…" It was a soft, gentle warning.

"At least my old man didn't just sit there with his nose in a book while his wife died!" Martin ground out, pushing in closer into Indy's face, despite a couple of the others trying to nervously keep them apart.

To Marion's surprise, she watched her husband suddenly move with the grace of a cat, balling his own fists, ready to respond in kind. _Jesus, he sure pushes your buttons, doesn't he?! _"Jones!" The warning was more clear now, and less gentle._ Don't do something you're going to regret._

Out of nowhere, Herman was suddenly interposed between a somewhat drunken, overweight Doug Martin, and a clearly very-much-in-shape and furiously angry Henry Jones, Jr. Marion was almost sorry; she'd have like to see Indy clean the big-mouthed moron's clock for him…

"Boys, boys…" he chided. "Judy and Larry have a real nice get together, here, and it'd be rude to spoil it, now, don't you think?" When Doug clearly wanted to continue Herman's long, strong arm stretched out and pushed Doug back a bit, quite sharply, making him think again, at the same time, shooting his other arm behind him and pushing Indy back a couple of steps as well. "All right, knock it off, both of you!" Herman barked, jovial town sheriff gone, and rock-solid lawman taking his place. "I'll tell you two the same thing I tell the teenagers… you want to bash each others' brains in, take it outside!"

"You two've been like two rutting moose fightin' over a female since you were kids," muttered Louise, standing on the edge of the battleground, drink in hand. "Frankly, I've forgot which one of you won last… oh, wait, yes I do." She chuckled, eyebrow arched.

Both men turned and glared at her on that one.

Lilian got to her feet, then. "You ought to," she drawled. "They were fighting over _you_. One of the many… _positions_… you seem to like."

Audible gasps circulated the picnic tables.

Marion nearly crowed with laughter. _God, what a piece of work_! she thought, in delighted admiration.

Stunned for a moment by alcohol and disbelief that Lilian Franks could have such temerity, Louise Martin stared in shock. Doug Martin stared as well… but at his wife, wondering what she'd do when the alcohol haze faded enough for her to truly react. Indy backed off, grinning in delight at Lil's ballsy statement, and kind of grateful that he didn't have to get into a fistfight.

"Why, you _bitch_…!" Louise moved herself toward Lil, and Indy sighed. _Aw, shit… _

"Now, Lou, this isn't the place" drawled Doug nervously, patting her shoulder. She furiously shrugged him off and swung wide at Lil, who easily ducked under the drunken woman's angry roundhouse right.

"You always did have lousy aim," Lil growled, and, with her foot, booted Louise's butt, sending her into a group of seated picnic guests.

"You old dyke bitch! Don't you _dare_ touch my wife!" Doug snarled, pushing through the crowd and aiming a slap toward Lil, who quickly ducked, throwing Doug off balance.

The crowd was stunned, all looking at each other, trying to figure out what in the world they should do. One minute this was a nice little geriatric get-together, and the next thing they knew, all hell had broken loose!

When Doug attacked Lil, something inside Indy snapped. His drink was dropped to the ground and suddenly the mild, somewhat reserved college professor Dr. Henry Jones, Jr. from the East Coast disappeared and someone entirely different emerged, someone with a harder edge, a meaner eye and a colder glare; a glare that said "Take no prisoners!"

When he launched a gut-punch to Doug Martin's midsection, Indy got a surprise: what had looked like flabby paunch was actually solid, and Doug, while grunting in pain at the punch, still turned to retaliate far faster than Indy had expected, and brought a left up to meet his old rival's mouth.

Herman really had to admit to himself that he hadn't seen this coming. He'd expected maybe a little posturing, some blowhard name-calling, but this? No way. To his knowledge, Doug Martin hadn't been in a fight in thirty years. And yet here he was, slugging it out with a man who – very obviously – _had_. "What in the _hell_ --?" _Could boyhood rivalries really last this long?!_

Indiana staggered back a little into the crowd behind him, shaking his head and spitting blood, but recovered very, very fast. So fast that Doug, and Herman, were both caught off guard. Indy brought a leg around fast to cut Herman's legs out from under him, landing the big sheriff in the dust harmlessly on his butt, then leaned over and charged, plowing his left shoulder straight into Dougie's gut, amid shrieks and screams from the crowd.

Both men smashed into the food table behind Doug, sending hors d'oeuvres flying in all directions and people scattering. Indy got to his feet first and hauled Doug up landing two quick rabbit punches to the other man's jaw before Doug brought an uppercut around. Indy ducked but not fast enough, with Doug's fist connecting on Indy's cheekbone, sending blood spattering.

"Goddamn it, I said _KNOCK IT OFF_!"

Before either combatant knew what hit them, both were on their asses in the dust, shaking their heads to clear away the cobwebs of having had their heads knocked together.

"That's it!" Herman kept one eye on the fallen aged gladiators, then turned to Louise. He immediately saw she was definitely out of focus, and cussed again under his breath. He then saw Charlie next to her. "Charlie, get the car keys from them and drive 'em home. Do NOT let her get behind the wheel." Herman turned to the Martins, who were still trying to figure out really what had just happened. "You two go home and stay there! Louise, sleep it off, and Dougie, so help me, if I hear you're out lookin' for blood I'll lock your ass up so fast your head'll spin!"

Doug apparently thought of glaring, then gave it up and just nodded as he hauled himself to his feet. Louise's face burned in shame, and she stalked off to the house to get their things.

Herman pointed a finger at Charlie. "Figure out some place to hide the goddamn keys once you get 'em home."

Charlie nodded and headed over to Doug, holding his hand out for the keys, which Doug, still a bit dazed, struggled to fish out of his pocket.

In the meantime, Herman stalked over to his own 'contender' and unceremoniously hauled Indiana to his feet. "Violet, you and Marion go get the car. C'mon, Sugar Ray, bout's over."

"Lemme go - " Indy was a little fuzzy yet, but still just as angry.

Herman gave him a good shake and leaned in to his old friend, towering over him, nose to nose. Indy's face was pale except for two pink spots on his cheekbones, his mouth looking more like an angry slash in his face. Herman could see the dangerous man that Indiana Jones could become, and to the Sheriff's credit, met him head on. "This… ain't… negotiable. Settle down or you'll cool your heels in one of my cells, instead of my den. Got it?"

Indy got the message and made himself calm down a little. He nodded, and allowed Herman to push him a little toward Larry's driveway.

"Sorry for the dust-up, Larry," he heard Herman say behind him as he stalked around the side of the house. Indy didn't hear Collier's reply, but now he was beginning to be angry… at himself.

As Indy stepped onto the concrete driveway, Violet's car pulled up and the back door opened. Seated in the back, waiting for him, was his lovely wife... with a not-so-lovely look on her face. Cussing at himself once again, Indy sank down into the seat, and got himself in just barely before Herman angrily slammed the door behind him and stalked around the car to the driver's side.

Still mad, Indy stared at his scraped and bloody hands for a moment, and suddenly, the pain hit him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, sucking in breath through his teeth… _Shit!_ _Goddamned fool, what in the _hell_ got into you? _When the worst wave passed, he reached a hand up and brushed away the blood he could feel oozing from his cheekbone.

The next thing he knew, the car was pulling away and a soft handkerchief was being gently wrapped around his right hand. He could feel Marion's eyes on him, and glanced at her.

"Well, Jones… at least you haven't forgotten how to show a lady a good time," Marion said dryly.

* * *

Wearily, Marion eased herself into the recliner in Violet and Herman's den while Vi stalked back and forth between the bathroom and the den, armed with witch hazel, cotton balls and a nondescript stoneware jar that she placed, rather firmly, on the bar, then left again to fetch ice from the kitchen. Indy sat guiltily on a barstool, dabbing at the cut on his lip with a napkin and doing his best to ignore Herman's wicked grin.

"So tell me," asked Marion dryly, settling herself in, "do you always have such exciting live entertainment for visitors? Or was this show just for us?"

Herm chuckled, leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets. He had long since got over his anger, and actually found a more than a little humor in the situation. "Nah, this is more along the lines of a repeat performance. 'Step right up!' " Herman crowed, like a carnival barker. " 'Dougie Martin and Indiana Jones repeating the countless battles of their boyhood, two performances, one matinee!' "

Indiana gave him a sour glare. "Oh, fun-NEE, Mueller, fun-NEE," he grumped.

"Honestly, you'd think neither of you grew up past thirteen," Violet muttered darkly, as she slapped the bowl of ice on the bar. Then, with surprising gentleness, she first gently cleaned Indy's scraped knuckles then lightly packed ice around them.

He winced. "I'll be okay, Vi, really. You don't – " Indy started.

"Might as well shut up and take it, bud," sighed Herm, stretching a little and tossing his no longer needed jacket over the back of his recliner. He winked at Marion. "Violet's in doctor mode, and there ain't nothin' that's gonna sway her."

"Doctor mode, hell," his wife snapped, in return. "I'm in mother mode, and it's all I can do not to swat him."

Marion giggled at that, and covered her mouth, knowing that Indy would _not_ be pleased.

Herman sighed. "I'll go get us some drinks," he said to no one in particular, heading into the kitchen. "Marion, just settle back and watch the show," he said softly, as he passed her. "This oughta be good."

Startled, Marion settled herself in and did as she was told.

Indy's face grew stony at Violet's last pronouncement, and he started to stubbornly pull his hand out of the ice water. Violet reached over and gently pushed it back in. "Settle down. I didn't say I _would_, just that I wanted to." She managed a small smile, but Indiana's angry expression didn't cool. She next reached for the cotton balls and soaked one in witch hazel. "Easy, now, this is likely to sting, but it'll ease the burning in a moment or two." She gently dabbed at his lip, and he yelped, sucked in breath between clenched teeth, pulling his head back.

"_Ow!"_ He turned his face away. "I'm fine, just leave me – "

"Oh, don't be such a baby! Sit still and let me work!" she barked at him, then, and her tone surprised him enough that he subsided and sat back, hurting, but quiet.

Marion chuckled to herself and relaxed, then, seeing that her husband was in good hands.

Vi worked as quickly as she could, knowing the antiseptic had to sting like the devil. She decided talking might distract him a little. "Indiana, why do you let him bother you so much?" she asked, curiously. "Douglas Martin is a fool, always has been. You're worth ten of him. But for some reason he's always been like a burr under your saddle."

"Because he's an arrogant asshole who's annoyed the _piss_ out of me every, single goddamn time we've ever met!" Indy growled. Vi raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. "Sorry. Hey, you asked," Indy grumbled. "Besides, this time the sonofabitch went after Lil."

She grinned and shook her head. Vi dabbed at a graze on his cheekbone with some ointment.

"Ugh… what the hell is _that_?" Indy demanded, wrinkling his nose at the awful smelling stuff.

"Navajo remedy," she answered, dabbing a little on his lip as well, "Don't lick it, it tastes just as bad as it smells." He rolled his eyes and she chuckled. "Tomorrow you won't even have a bruise," she said matter-of-factly. She reached behind the bar for a bottle of bourbon, grabbed a highball glass and dropped some of the ice in, poured three fingers of Jack Daniels, and set it in front of Indy. "There. Best painkiller we've got."

He hesitated, then looked up at her. "Thanks, Vi," he said quietly, and, with his good remaining hand, picked up the glass and sipped. Fondly, she rubbed his shoulder, then smiled over at Marion.

"That fight was almost as good as the one after your little episode with the Bon Ton," began Herman airily, making Indy grimace and close his eyes in pain once again.

"Herm." It was a clear warning from his wife, and Indy's look held some daggers as well. Marion couldn't help it, then. She had to know.

"What about the Bon Ton?" she grinned.

Herman guffawed, dodging a plastic cup from behind the bar his wife threw at him.

"Herman Mueller, you're impossible! Marion, pay him no mind," Violet said sternly.

Indy sighed, and shook his head in pained resignation. "Oh, you might as well tell her now, because she'll haunt me from now till the cows come home to get the story."

Marion grinned, nodding enthusiastically in agreement.

By the time Herman was finished telling the tale of Indiana's adolescent foray into crime – shoplifting on a dare from Doug Martin, and Doug's subsequent ratting him out to the store's owner, who just happened to be Doug's father – Indy's face was beet red, Violet was trying not to chuckle and Marion was laughing hard enough to start labor.

"My God, Indy!" she breathed. "What on earth were you thinking?"

"That's just it," declared Vi. "He _wasn't_ thinking! See, he and Dougie both wanted to ask Louise to a school dance, and Louise was playing 'em against each other pretty hot and heavy."

Marion's jaw dropped. "Is _this_ what Lil was talking about at the picnic?!" she gasped.

Herman nodded, giggling. "Yep. Indy ended up getting one hell of a tanning from his old man, and Dougie won the 'right' to take Louise to the dance."

Violet picked up the story from there. "But the afternoon of the dance, Indy retaliated by decking Dougie. Indy might have been stuck at home that night with a sore tail, but Doug wasn't much better. He escorted Louise, sporting a wicked, ugly shiner. Doug didn't dare say who'd given it to him, because Indy would've told _Doug's _father that Dougie had set him up in the first place!"

"Oh, my God." Marion shook her head in disbelief. "You shoplifted on a dare from Doug Martin because you didn't want to lose face in front of _Louise_?"

Indy studied the ceiling tiles. "Can we just move on, please?" he asked in a pained voice.

Marion closed her eyes and shook her head. "Don't you ever, _ever_ complain to me about some stupid thing your son does again, buster." She turned in disbelief to Violet. "Like I said before, it's testosterone poisoning… it has to be."

The laughter that rang through the room eased the tensions and calmed nerves. Violet grinned, accepting the gin and tonic Herman handed her. "I think the bloom was pretty much off the rose from that point on," she chuckled, patting Indiana's shoulder fondly.

"Yeah, when sanity finally seeped in, I decided that I probably didn't want to spend a whole lot of time with someone quite that calculating," Indy admitted. "I'm slow, sometimes, but I get there eventually."

The couple relaxed and shared information back and forth, until Marion started noticing something not quite right. Every once in awhile, Violet would tilt her head as though listening to something, and Herman would glance at her, and deliberately route conversation back to him to get eyes off her. Marion saw that Indy noticed it too, and then the conversation began to slow, and finally Herman shifted uneasily.

"Okay," said Indy, quietly, sipping his drink and looking between them. "What's going on?"

Herman glanced at Violet, and waited for her to meet his eyes. Slowly she looked up, gazed at her husband, her face pale and strained, and then she nodded.

"I think… uh, I think you probably figured out that I didn't write to you to just tell ya about the reunion," Herman said quietly, studying the amber liquid in the glass in his big, meaty hands.

"Well, the thought crossed our minds," Indy replied quietly. _At least it crossed Marion's._ He looked at her, and his expression congratulated her on her intuition. She nodded and turned back to the lawman.

"We've got some trouble here, and honestly… well, I'm hoping you'll hear me out and see if …" Helplessly, Herman looked to Violet.

"Speak plain, Herm," said Violet quietly. "This is Indy you're talking to. I trust him. He'll understand. And he'll help, if he can."

More than a little alarmed now, Indy looked between his old friends.

"Indy, I got a story to tell you… one that might make you think we've lost our minds, Violet and me, but … " Herman sighed, scratching his head.

Tipping his head to one side, Indy studied his old friend, and grew serious. He got up and walked over to Marion and settled in on the arm of the recliner beside her.

Violet glanced at Herman, and sighed, twisting her fingers a little. "You remember hearing at the party about the Munsons on the edge of town." It was a statement, not a question. She'd seen Indy's, and Marion's, for that matter, interest in the odd story.

He nodded, saying nothing.

She drew in a breath. "Well, you also probably remember back when we were kids, the family was pretty much feared by everyone in town… they all said the old lady was everything from a witch to a lunatic, remember?"

He nodded slowly, not liking the direction this was going in.

"Well, they weren't that far wrong. Mrs. Munson was from Naples, Italy. When Mr. Munson was there around 1880 or so, he met her and married her. She was part of a ancient family that practiced _La Vecchia Religione_ at that time. She was Strega."

Indy's eyebrow went up at that, Marion noticed, though the word meant nothing to her.

"Okay, you lost me… what's a strega?" she asked quietly.

"Not 'a strega', just strega. _Streghani_," corrected Indiana. Marion was still blank. "Mrs. Munson was a member of an Italian family that followed the Old Religion." He looked at Marion. "Witchcraft."

Marion's eyes widened.

Violet nodded. "Yes," she said softly. Violet raised her dark eyes. "And so am I."

Indy didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. "I… I'm not sure…"

Violet got to her feet and walked, twisting her hands. "I'm a member of the Munson family, Indy. My grandmother and Mrs. Munson were sisters back in Naples. My grandmother, Constanza, had tried to leave the family years before, and emigrated here to the United Stated in the early 1840s, long before James Munson met and married her sister, Vittorina. My name is actually Violetta.' " Vi's dark eyes blazed as her head came up and suddenly the pride of thousands of years of a mysterious people rested on her shoulders like a mantle. "My grandmother wanted her children to know something besides the fear and hatred her people had always faced,' she said, her head high, "so she emigrated here. Out west, no one would know about Stregheria, and anyone who had something say about her dark coloring…" she shrugged. "Italian, Mexican… it's all the same to many," she said with a sniff.

Indy nodded, thinking hard. "Vi… there was _stregheria_…and _stregonaria_." He let the words sit in the air between them.

Violet raised an eyebrow. "You're even better read than I thought," she nodded, grudgingly. "Yes, Indy. My family's tradition was based in the _stregonaria_… which is why my grandmother wanted to leave the family."

"But, what's the difference?" asked Marion, frowning.

Indy looked at Violet, almost for permission. When she sighed and nodded, he glanced at Marion. "The _stregheria_ have their foundation in a pagan ritual practice that centers itself around the Sabbats… changes of the season and the moon, usually worshipping the goddess Diana, if my memory serves me."

Violet nodded. "That's simplistic, but yes."

"_Stregoneria_ on the other hand… well, that's based on … sorcery."

Marion swallowed. "And… and this is still believed?" she asked softly.

"Honey, after what we've seen? Anything's possible," Indy said honestly.

Marion winced, remember that horrible, terrifying night on an island more than twenty years before. She nodded.

Violet sighed. "My grandmother worked hard to hide her background and past. Imagine her shock and fear when suddenly her sister showed up in the same town in the 1880s! They met once, and my grandmother made Vittorina promise to never, ever tell others they were related." She shrugged. "You can call it cruel, I suppose, but my grandmother had two children now, and wanted them accepted and safe. Claiming kinship to Vittorina could destroy her marriage, her children's lives, all she'd worked for."

Indy nodded, glancing at Marion. "Persecution of witches in this country didn't really quit after the Salem witch trials, you know."

"My mother, Adriana, finally made contacts with the family, despite my father being adamant that he wanted us kids to have nothing to do with 'them crazy Eye-Tie Witches!' and while we still didn't claim kinship, there wasn't the anger and fear that had been before. I was raised both in the Catholic faith, and in the rituals of _La Vecchia Religione… _the old religion."

Indy glanced out at the moon, then back at Vi. She smiled sadly and nodded.

Indy got to his feet and walked over to Vi, taking her hands in pity. "So the family that disappeared…"

Violet nodded. "Yes. It is _my_ family that's disappeared, Indy," she declared, her voice turning fierce, and gripping his hands tightly "_My family!_ They kept to themselves, and hurt no one! They never would have run like that, not leaving behind the things that were left. Something's happened to them. All the children… dear God, Indy, there's got to be a way you can help us!"

Indy scratched the back of his head, then looked up at the proud woman in front of him, beseeching him with her eyes, tears running freely down her olive cheeks. "I'll do whatever I can," he said softly, holding open his arms to her. She hugged him tightly.

"Thank you, old friend," she whispered… in Italian.

Herman came up and handed Indy a cup of coffee at that point. "I'll take you up to the compound tomorrow, let you have a look around," he said quietly. "I'll also open up the casefiles for you. Maybe you'll see something I missed."

Suddenly, all four of them jumped when the phone on the end of the bar rang shrilly. "Judas Priest, that took ten years off me," Violet gasped. She chuckled nervously, wiping her eyes and regaining her composure. "It's probably Bonnie, asking for another 15 minutes."

Herman grinned and nodded. "More'n likely." He picked up the phone. "Muellers… Vernon? For pity's sake it's nearly midnight. What's going on?..."

Marion watched Violet's face suddenly go pale and both women turned to see a grim Herman on the telephone, one hand on his hip, head down, scuffing at the carpet. "…. No, Vernon, I understand… of course you did, son. You're sure nobody's been hurt?"

At that, Indy and Marion, with that telepathic ability that parents of teenagers begin to possess, even latently like Indy, stood, serious and nervous.

"… all right, then. Yep. The boy's father and I will be up to pick 'em up shortly. Thanks, Vernon." Herman replaced the receiver, and drew in a deep breath. He turned to face Indy, his eyes dark and dangerous.

"It appears Mutt and Bonnie got into a little fender bender," he said, voice and face hard as stone.

"They're all right?" Marion breathed.

Violet put a gentle hand on Marion's arm. "Of course they are, dear," she said gently.

"For the moment," was Herman's ominous response. "C'mon, Jones. Let's go pick 'em up." Herman stalked toward the door.

"But, what happened?" demanded Indiana, as he set his drink down.

"Like I said, a fender bender." Herman's voice slowly gained intensity and volume. "Not bad for 110 miles per hour!" The last words were shouted. "Apparently YOUR son was drag-racing with some of the locals on the flats and had MY granddaughter in the goddamn car!"

Indy winced as the door was nearly ripped off its hinges as Sheriff Mueller stormed out to the squad car parked in the driveway.

Indy sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm gonna kill him…"

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Chapter 5

_**Indiana Jones and the Adventure of the Mystic's Cave**_

**Chapter Five Summary:** Indy and Mutt both learn some surprising truths about good fathers.

**Setting**: July, 1958, post KoTCS

**Characters**: Indy/Marion/Mutt, probably Oxley and a couple of new OCs, applicable to this story; possibility of some recurring OCs as well; the return of some old friends; I'm not yet sure. Like Indy, "I'm making this up as I go along."

**Rating**: T (for language, and some oh! so sweet canoodling!)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Indiana Jones, Marion, Mutt, Oxley or any of the characters and characterizations notable to the Indiana Jones franchise, and have no desire to commit copyright infringement. However, any original characters and the storyline itself ARE mine. :-) Please consider the MacGuffin for this story copyrighted.

**Acknowledgement**: My deep thanks to Beta'O'Mine for her masterful guidance this chapter, probably the most challenging yet for her. She proved herself up to the task and I'm deeply grateful for her willingness to "tell it like it is." Hugs, you!

Happy reading, all!

* * *

_**CHAPTER FIVE**_

"Would ya look at that moon?" Mutt breathed, gazing up into the night sky as Bonnie rested her head back against his arm. With the top down, perched up on the edge of the promontory the way it was, the Impala gave them a view that was better and more romantic than any movie Mutt could have taken her to see.

Bonnie chuckled to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing… we see that moon all the time out here," she said, after a beat. She turned her head, her eyes hesitant. "Mutt…"

"Yeah?"

"I just…I mean…" She shrugged, her head down.

He turned to her, tipping his head to one side. "What?"

She shrugged again. "Nothing. I'm just being stupid."

Frowning, he shook his head. "Well, I can't agree or disagree, babe, you haven't said anything that makes sense yet," he said, lightly. "What's up, cupcake?"

She stared up at the sky, her eyes welling. "I just wish things could stay just like this forever… nobody else… no problems… no worries… just like this."

"You'd get bored," he teased gently.

"No, I wouldn't!" she assured him forcefully.

Startled, he sat up a little more. "Bonnie… what gives, baby? What's buggin' you?"

"There's a lot going on right now, Mutt," she answered. "I'm trying to decide if I want to stay around here after I graduate next year, or if I want to get the heck out of Moab. There's … stuff with my family. There's… " unhappily she shrugged. "And until you came along, anything other than all this seemed like just a dream. But you… you're showing me I could do it. Oh, I don't know what I'm talking about Mutt, just ignore me."

He grew a little nervous then; he shifted slightly on the seat and turned a little toward her. "Hey, Bonnie… I'm only here for another few days," he said seriously. "You can't plan your life around a guy who blew into town on a Thursday and is leavin' before a week goes by, you know?"

Startled she glanced at him in surprise, then grew indignant. "Don't flatter yourself, Clyde!" she said dryly. "I'm not planning _anything_ around you!"

"Sorry."

"All I'm saying is that you're showing me other possibilities. That's all! Okay?!"

"Okay!"'

"Okay!"

Her arms crossed over her perky little bosom, her face in a scowl, and Mutt sat there, bewildered, trying to figure out what the hell he'd said wrong, and how this all went downhill in a span of thirty seconds…

He glanced to her again, saw the lip quivering, the eyes welled up, and couldn't help himself. Very gently he wiped away her tears, then leaned in and kissed her. He felt her stiffen up under him, almost in protest, but she didn't move at all. He lifted his lips to kiss her cheek… her nose… her eyelids… and then back to her lips again, and this time… she was ready. And she was willing. He felt his cerebral cortex explode when her lips parted and allowed him access. It was the wildest feeling; his heart hammered as all the usual sensations associated with necking with a great looking girl started to overtake his nineteen-year-old body, but other things happened as well: his mind reeled with images of people and things he'd never remembered seeing before, feelings he couldn't identify… _what the hell?!_

And suddenly it all stopped as both of them heard tires squealing behind them, bright headlights forming a semi-circle around them and they broke apart. Mutt's heart was still racing, but this time, the adrenalin rush was to protect her, and he spun on the car seat, pushing her down and behind him just slightly, keeping her out of the line of fire.

Her heart hammering, Bonnie spun around on her knees on the seat, and squinted into the headlights, looked around frantically, trying to imagine what was going on, until she heard the catcalls and hooting… and then she knew. _Rob Martin and his posse._ She swallowed hard. They had the Impala penned in. She reached over and clutched Mutt's hand.

"It's okay, baby," he said softly. "Nothin's gonna happen." _I won't let it._

"Well, look what we got here." Mutt's mouth firmed into a tight line. He recognized that voice from that afternoon at the sweet shop. Sure enough, Rob Martin perched on the edge of his convertible and swung his long legs out of the car to land, cowboy boots first, onto the desert sands beneath them. "We got us a greaser, fellas." The leggy blonde who'd been with him in the sweet shop climbed out of the car as well, wearing a cropped halter and with her shapely hips and legs encased in a pair of tighter-than-skin capris and ending in very high heeled mules… not the easiest for a sandy terrain. Bonnie steamed when she saw her, fighting the urge to fight Mutt's dictum of staying in the car…_Emily Langmann! Grrrrr!_

Mutt's eyes narrowed as he tried to make his mind churn through a number of different scenarios.

"Whaddya want, Martin?" he growled. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Martin… you related to 'Dealin' Dougie'?"

Startled, Rob looked at his friends, surprised. "Yeah," he acknowledge, belligerently. "He's my granddad. You got somethin' to say about it?"

Mutt's smile had no humor… _God, it's weird how things work out sometimes…_ "Nah, I just wondered." He got out of his car, gesturing to Bonnie to stay put, and walked a bit away from the car, faced the others, one against a dozen, determined not to squint into the glare of headlights. "You got nothin' better to do than cruise around looking for a fight, Martin?"

More catcalls… more hooting…

Rob stuck his thumbs in his belt loops and sauntered over to within four feet of Mutt. "Thought we might finish our little _conversation_ from this morning. Without Joe Wilson around to save your ass."

Mutt was immediately on his guard. "Yeah, sure, I get it," he nodded. "Out here, where nobody'll notice it's 12 to one. That fits."

Rob's face flushed a little. Bonnie saw the meanness in his eyes even ten feet away. Defiantly, she got up, drew in a deep breath and boldly stepped outside the car, coming up to Mutt's side. Her black eyes bored holes first into the blonde's, an old adversary from as far back as elementary school, and then into Rob's. She slid an arm around Mutt's waist, head high as she leaned against him.

"Why don't you just take your blonde bobble-head and your empty-headed friends and leave us alone, Robbie?" she stated coldly. "We weren't bothering you."

Mutt raised an eyebrow as his eyes never left Rob's face.

"Shut up, Bonnie!" snapped Rob. "The Sheriff and the rest of your family might have you believing you're better than the rest of us, but trust me, they're wrong!"

"Better than some, that's for sure," Bonnie declared, giving the blonde a look of contempt that rivaled anything Bette Davis could have churned out. Stung, the blonde slithered up to Rob's side, and mirrored Bonnie's stance, except that she wrapped one long leg around one of Rob's. Rob put his arm around his girl, too, like Mutt, his eyes never leaving his adversary's face.

"So… you think that piece o' fluff can race?" asked Rob calmly, gesturing toward the Impala with the brim of his cowboy hat.

"Rental, man," Mutt shrugged. "Couldn't race you for pinks, even if I thought it would be fair."

"Fair?"

Mutt hesitated… the little Mutt wearing the halo and wings and perched up on his right shoulder was tellin' him to grab Bonnie and get his ass into the Impala and drive away, but the other little Mutt sitting on his left, the one with the horns and the pointed tail? He had other ideas; _his_ goading had to do with saving his pride in front of these idiots, and definitely in front of Bonnie Jackson. If nothing else, Mutt hadn't liked the feeling he'd had when they had first startled him on their arrival. Mutt didn't like being made to feel scared. He didn't like it at all. So Angel Mutt got brushed off his shoulder without another thought. "Yeah… my old lady taught me if wasn't nice to steal candy from little kids."

Bonnie grinned at that one, and the hooting and catcalls this time aimed themselves at Rob.

Mutt should have known it would go badly from that point forward…

* * *

It was a silent drive from Herman's house near the edge of town to the police station on Centre Street.

Indy glared out the window for most of the trip, imagining the mayhem he was going to visit on his son once he got his hands on him. His blood boiled as he imagined the kid bent over his knee, bent over the Sheriff's desk, bent over the hood of the car, strung up on a stockade, and in all those scenarios on the receiving end of the worst thrashing of his young life… _So help me, I'm gonna beat that kid until he's black and blue… Where's my bullwhip, which suitcase did I pack it in? Oh, to hell with the goddamn bullwhip! I'll beat him with my bare hands! . I'm going to teach him a lesson he'll never forget...never! ...How could he do this to me? ... I trusted him! I __believed__ him! … Just goes to show you, Marion, I should've been around to raise him! If I'd been here all along he wouldn't DARE pull this kind of shit now! … When I get finished with that kid he's gonna wish he'd never been born! _

And finally, the worst of it passed, especially when he kept hearing himself say over and over again, "How could he do this to me?" Indy winced; _this isn't about __you__, Jones, for Chrissake,_ he thought, getting control of himself. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. _Something happened out there, and I've got to keep my temper so I can find out what it was. Mutt… JESUS, Mutt can be a royal pain in my ass, but there's something about this that just doesn't feel right. I just don't believe he'd do this deliberately, there's something I don't know here. Especially with Bonnie in the car. That just doesn't jive with my idiot son's skewed sense of chivalry…_

By the time his mind had reached this point, Indy was exhausted and glanced at the dashboard clock, surprised to see that no more than about five minutes had passed. He glanced to his left, seeing that Herman was still stony and furious. _Uh oh… _Finally as he saw them nearing the Apache and knowing Centre Street was close by, Indy drew in a breath, and cleared his throat to speak.

"Don't say a word."

Cold. Flat.

"Damn it, Herman, I want to hear what he's got to say before you have him shot at dawn."

Herman's normally warm blue eyes looked like two icebergs as they glared at Indiana. " 'He's a good driver, Herman!' "What trouble could they get into, Herman?' " he mimicked. "Goddamn it, Jones, that was my grandbaby he had in that car!"

"Yeah, well, he's _my_ baby, too!" _Good God… Mutt'd just love that little statement…_ "Don't think I'm not angry as hell. I've just gone through about sixty ways to beat the shit out of him for this in my head, most of them pretty brutal. But I know my son -- sort of -- and I want to hear _his_ side of the story before I kill him!" Indy wagged a finger at Herman. "Besides, _your_ 'grandbaby' could have got OUT of the car, too. I kind of doubt he held her hostage."

Herman glared at his passenger, mostly because that was exactly what he'd been thinking himself. Abruptly, Herman quickly glanced in his side and rearview mirrors, then pulled hard to the right and parked the car on the side of the road.

Indiana sat and waited.

"All right. I grant you, Bonnie can be a little impetuous at times…"

Indy smiled grimly; those had been Marion's words about their son just prior to announcing he _was_ their son…

"… and believe me, Indy, she's gonna know _just_ how angry I am. I just…" Herman sighed and wiped a big meaty hand over his face. "This town's already lost one kid this year to dragging out on the flats. When I heard my deputy say that's what they'd been doing… and just adding it all to everything that's been going on… oh, hell, I don't know what I mean…"

Indy nodded. He understood that feeling, now. That feeling that parents get, a terror that is so thick that it almost leaves a taste in your mouth. "C'mon, Herman, you've got more experience with this than I do. You know what we have to do… let's give them a chance first to tell us what happened. Mutt can be reckless, but he doesn't lie. If he's done something stupid, he'll own up to it." _I think._

Herman swallowed hard, and nodded. "Indy, you gotta know, there might be charges attached to this. I can't just make 'em go away because you're a friend," Herman said firmly, staring straight ahead of him.

"Herman, if he does the crime, he does the time," said Indy firmly. "But, let's not give 'im a life sentence before we even know the charges, okay?"

Herman nodded and sighed, then put the cruiser back in gear and pulled back out onto the street and headed toward the police station.

* * *

Mutt sat in his cell on the edge of the cot, resting his forearms on his knees, his head hanging. It felt like he'd been sitting there for hours. His thoughts were spinning 'round and 'round in his head, tighter and tighter and tighter in a ball in his mind. His heart hammered some as he tried to imagine whatever kind of punishment would await him at the Sheriff's hand… _do they have chain gangs in Utah?_

It was a remarkably quiet night in the jail; one old geezer three cells down sleeping off a drunk was the only other occupant now, giving Mutt plenty of time to think about his sins. He had no idea where Bonnie was, but he assumed she'd been taken home by one of the deputies.

His racing partner had already been picked up by his father. Mutt had managed to derive a little bit of satisfaction in this mess from the embarrassment poor Rob Martin had suffered at the hands of his old man.

The threats of punishment that rained down on Rob Martin's head, when his father finally got through screaming at him for wrecking his car, had been loud and dire. Rob had been promised everything from being grounded for the rest of his life to a beating he'd never forget, and from the miserable, terrified look on Rob's face, it looked like all the statements were more than idle threats. For the first time, Mutt started to feel a little compassion for the kid. _That kid's old man is borderline wacko. Dad might be tough, but he'd never… he wouldn't…_

The youngster groaned and put his head in his hands.

He honestly couldn't even imagine what his father was gonna do or say to all this. He'd rag on the old man occasionally, but usually Pops was surprisingly cool. If Mutt messed up, he'd hear about it, but it wasn't usually in a high-handed way. Even the few times over the last year his dad felt he had to get 'parental,' grounding him or enforcing some other kind of restriction, it was always reasonable, logical, kind of like 'this is what you did, these are the consequences and you knew it, so live with it.' It was a sensible approach that Mutt had grudgingly accepted and appreciated, mostly because he'd had classmates this last year whose fathers still treated them, basically, like large eight-year-olds. But this? This was different. This time the law -- and the law's granddaughter! -- was involved.

Mutt groaned again and got to his feet, to pace the cell. What's_ the matter with me? What the hell happened tonight?!_

…_don't be a total dweeb, Mutt. You know what happened. Your brain took a vacation, man, that's what happened. You wanted to show the chick how cool you were, what you were made of, that's what happened. Come to think of it, she kinda pushed you into it, but, hey, you're supposed to be the man here, the older one, the one with the good sense to cut this kinda crap off at the pass._

_So what if that Martin jerk yanked your chain? You're supposed to be bigger than that! Yeah, you're bigger than that, all right. A bigger effin' __idiot__!_

Mutt found sitting still impossible and got up to trace a path back and forth in his cell.

* * *

As they had neared the station, Herman and Indy decided to be systematic; first, they'd look at the car. Then they'd talk to Vernon Morris, the arresting officer. Next, they'd get Bonnie's story; and last, they'd talk to Mutt.

Indy was more than relieved when he saw the Impala: the damage was minimal. A few minor, shallow dents on the front left bumper, a little scraping above the left front wheel well and a broken front left headlight. Nothing serious at all. And certainly nothing to indicate anyone in the car had been hurt. At least he wouldn't have to be replacing a car for the rental company.

They next spoke to Vernon who admitted that 110 miles per hour was probably a little bit of exaggeration on his part.

"Hell, Sheriff, the kid wasn't doin' much more than 95," scoffed Vernon. Vern, of course, wasn't much older than Mutt, so when Herman's cold glare was turned on him, he immediately grew dead serious and stammered out, "…but, o'course, that's speeding and shouldn't be accepted, no sir-ee…"

Indy fought back a smile, and turned to look through the office window at a scared, very penitent Bonnie, anxiously watching her grandfather's face as he listened to his deputy.

"…and, to be honest, Sheriff, Bud Halloran, who lives out there by the flats, was watchin' 'em and said the boy drivin' the red and white car was tryin' to stay out of the way and drivin' careful. The only reason the Impala's left front bumper got hit a't'all was 'cos Robbie Martin lost control of _his_ car's steering when his tire slipped off the inside edge of the curve and hit sand."

"Not the only reason."

The words had been uttered in a cold, clipped deep voice. Startled, Vernon glanced over at the man who had spoken, the man who'd come in with the Sheriff. He was a tall fellow with gray hair and hard eyes, a reddened cheekbone and slightly swollen lip – he _must be the guy who clocked that blowhard, Doug Martin, at the school reunion thing out to the Colliers' this afternoon! Word got around fast in a town like Moab…_ Based on how hard this guy looked, Vern began to feel even more sorry for the kid back in the cell. "Uh… sir?"

"The other reason the Impala got hit is because the kid _driving_ the Impala was driving the _damn_ car in a _damn_ drag race in the first place!" growled Indy.

Vernon swallowed hard. "Yessir, o' course you're right," he agreed, awkwardly bobbing his head.

"Robbie … Martin?" asked Herman, wincing, and then glancing at Indiana. "Andy's kid? Doug Martin's grandson?"

"Yeah. A real troublemaker, that one."

Indiana closed his eyes, shaking his head. _How in God's name can I stand in front of the kid and chew him out for getting into a scrape with the grandson of the guy I was in a fistfight with, probably around the same time?!_ _What was it Marion said about not complaining about the next stupid thing the kid did…?_

"So why isn't he in the back too? Ya can't 'race' without an opponent, Vernon!"

"His old man already come up to get him, sir," replied Vernon respectfully. "From the sound of it, Andy'll have him pretty close t'home for a long, long time," the young deputy sighed, almost wincing at the threats he'd overheard from father to errant son earlier. "I told Andy to make sure the kid'd be here tomorrow morning for arraignment. He's not eighteen yet, so…"

"So what're you saying, Vernon? Spit it out, boy! Was there or _wasn't_ there any drag racing going on?"

Vernon thought about it a moment, scratched his head, then shrugged. "Well, sir, I guess I'm sayin' if there _was_, the kid back there in the lock up just wasn't bein' real serious about tryin' to win," he said, helplessly.

* * *

"Doctor Jones, I'm so sorry." Bonnie wiped her already blotchy, tear-streaked face with a fairly sodden tissue as she sat in one of the chairs in her grandfather's office. "Please don't be mad at Mutt, it's not his fault."

"Bonnie, he was driving," Indiana snapped at her. "I don't think anybody put a gun to his head." When she winced at his tone, Indy sighed and handed her a fresh tissue. She looked pretty beat-up; Herman had, indeed, made it _very_ clear how angry he was with her, especially when he'd heard the whole story.

_Indy had offered to sit outside while Herman 'interrogated' his granddaughter._

"_If you're offerin' just to save her the embarrassment of you watching me deal with her, save it, Indiana," growled Herman, deliberately pulling himself up to his full height and losing all trace of a benevolent, sweet old Gramps he usually was with his children and grandchildren. "She doesn't deserve it! Your son is in a jail cell, and you have the right to hear all the reasons why."_

_Without screaming, Herman had thoroughly scolded and lectured Miss Barbara Ann Jackson to the point that the girl was wilted and soaked in penitent tears, sitting in one of the chairs across from his desk._

_They learned how the whole situation started, and learned Bonnie's role in its escalation._

"_So, 'cos you and Em Langmann have been at each other's throats since you fought over a doll in first grade, you decided to make that kid back there feel like he had to protect his manhood by drag racin' with a fool like Rob Martin?!" Herman had snarled. "Just how goddamned childish do you think __that__ was, Barbara Ann!?"_

_Indy winced, uncomfortably, but was rather amazed, really, to observe the interchange. He was learning things about the female members of the human race he'd never realized before. They were motivated by a totally different set of rules than the male! As an archaeologist and anthropologist, the study was kind of interesting; as a father, it was rapidly becoming terrifying. He began to really wonder if he wanted a daughter this time around; the delicate, dainty little creature he imagined – _dainty! Jones, you idiot, her mother would be Marion Ravenwood, for Christ's sake! Dainty?! _– was becoming an image farther and farther removed…_

_As he watched in admiration Herman's skillful manipulation and interrogation technique of the young girl –he remembered that Herman and Violet had had four daughters, so he, obviously, had had practice! -- the entire story came out. _

_As Bonnie tearfully described the scene, Indy saw how Mutt would have chosen the path he did… hell, in the same place, thirty years ago, Indy probably would have done the same. And her story of Mutt deliberately not racing – despite her berating him for not doing so – and instead protecting her, just struggling to maneuver to a place in the road where he could take off safely and leave their antagonists in the dust, made perfect sense. It would be a way out without it being cowardice; totally Mutt's style. Unfortunately, luck just hadn't been with him this time. _

_Herman stroked his lip, and studied his weeping granddaughter seated before him, thinking hard. "All right, young lady. You and I will talk about how you'll be punished for your part in this mess tomorrow," he said sternly. "You sit here and wait for me. I'm gonna go talk to young Henry." _

_Indy started to rise. _

"_Nope, not this time," Herman declared firmly. "He's potentially got charges against him, and I'll talk to him alone."_

_Indy started to bristle, but kept his temper under control and nodded shortly._

"_You can see him when I'm done." Herman got to the door, and turned to Bonnie. "Young lady, you might want to think about apologizing to Mutt's dad, here, for getting him into trouble like this."_

_Herman stalked out and shut the door firmly behind him. "Vernon! Gimme the keys."_

_Indy settled back in his chair, a hand over his eyes. He had no idea how this would end up. He didn't know if Mutt would be facing charges of some kind, or if it might be a speeding ticket and a slap on the wrist… _

Now, as he looked at a very sorry Bonnie, sobbing softly as tears flowed down her cheeks, he sighed. He was definitely getting way too old for this…

* * *

Mutt's pacing stopped when he heard the big door at the end of the hallway squeal open. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed hard and swiveled his head around slowly, not sure which one of the two men he was more nervous to see. _Oh, Christ…_

"When you asked for permission to drive with my granddaughter, I told you that you were carrying precious cargo, boy. At what point tonight did you forget that?"

Mutt's heart sank as he looked up over his shoulder into the ice-cold eyes of Moab's Sheriff, no longer the kindly good ol' buddy, and instead looking like a very tall James Cagney in "Each Dawn I Die."

Mutt swallowed hard, adopted as respectful an expression as he possibly could and turned toward the Sheriff, bravely ready to face the music.

* * *

When the door to the cell area finally opened and Herman came out followed by a quiet, pale Mutt, Indy rose to his feet and came through Herman's office door. He'd been stewing for fifteen minutes in the office and was, frankly, ready to rip Mutt a new one. That is, until he saw his kid's face.

"Are you all right?" he'd asked gruffly.

"Yeah," Mutt had nodded, speaking softly, and looked up nervously into his dad's eyes. He winced a little at what he saw.

"I'm releasing him into your custody, Indiana," said Herman calmly. "Make sure he's here for arraignment tomorrow morning, nine o'clock." Herm turned to Mutt and pointed to a chair across the room by the front door. "Go sit over there and wait, please." Mutt nodded again and did as he was told. Herman beckoned to Indy to follow him to his office. "There's some paperwork you'll have to sign. Young lady, go sit over there with Henry."

Confused, Bonnie looked around.

"Henry! You know, _Mutt_!" snorted Herman, pointing toward her partner in crime sitting by the door.

Confusion cleared, Bonnie scampered out the door hurrying to obey.

There were four chairs in a row by the door. Mutt sat in the one closest to the door, and Bonnie miserably chose the one furthest away from him.

Both kids watched as Herman and Indy talked a little bit behind the closed door; Herman typed up something, and pushed it across his desk to Indy to sign.

Still tearful, Bonnie stole quick glances at the face of the young man two seats down. He looked terrible, she thought, pale and trying hard not to look scared. "Mutt… Mutt, I'm so sorry."

When she spoke, Mutt flinched; he'd been working very hard at remaining still and trying his best not to show how upset he was. He was mad at Rob Martin, he was mad at Bonnie, he was mad at the Sheriff for having just mopped the cell floor with him; he was mad at his mother for marrying Indiana Jones, and he was mad at his father for having gone to school in this one-horse-freaking town. But most of all, he was mad at himself. And he had so much 'mad' built up that the tone of his response to Bonnie sounded as cold as the Sheriff's eyes had looked awhile back. "Forget it."

He regretted it immediately; the tone was unnecessarily rough. But right at the moment, he just didn't have it in him to make any apologies. All his energy was being put into keeping his composure in the face of this mess. After all, he hadn't faced his father yet.

Bonnie winced, and the cascade of dark brown curls hung over her face, shielding her hurt and shame. _He'll never forgive me. _Bonnie bit her lip and pulled her head up, staring instead straight ahead into her grandfather's office, anything to avoid looking at her reality right now.

Just hours earlier, there hadn't been the width of a hair follicle between them when they'd necked upon on the flats; now, there was a whole world between them.

Through the office window, the kids watched Indy listen as Herman spoke, and Mutt was surprised and anxious to see a slight slump of his father's shoulders; it made his heart race fearfully. _What the hell was the Sheriff tellin' him?_ Mutt swallowed hard and shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Suddenly he was just so damn tired…

"Let's go." Startled, Mutt snapped opened his eyes to see his father standing over him, holding out an envelope.

"What's that?" Mutt asked, looking at the envelope.

That actually made Indy feel a little better; it appeared the boy was unfamiliar with booking procedures. "Your personal effects."

Mutt's brow cleared. _Oh, yeah, my wallet and keys and stuff_. He accepted the envelope. "Thanks." He fished into the envelope, then was alarmed. "The keys aren't in here."

"Damned straight, they're not." Indy's other hand came up, and he dangled them. "You won't be touching these ever again," he said, his voice holding a hard, dangerous edge. "You and I are going to have a long talk about this, young man, but right now I'm too angry to do that sensibly. So I would strongly suggest that you keep your mouth shut until we get back to the room. Clear?"

Mutt nodded, his lips tight. Indy kept up his hard stare until Mutt shifted uncomfortably, shedding some of the chip that rested on his shoulder. Only then did Indy finally step back and open the door, gesturing the kid out with a curt nod. "Move it."

The kid got to his feet to do as he was told. He cast a quick embarrassed glimpse over at Bonnie, who watched them miserably from her corner, but he hurried through the door.

Indy drove the Impala for the short, silent drive back to the motel, grateful to notice everything under the hood hummed just as perfectly as it had driving it out of the rental agency parking lot in Green River a couple of days earlier. The damage appeared to be purely cosmetic.

He glanced to his right and saw a pale, subdued Mutt slumped in his seat, staring down at the floorboards. Indy had chosen not to chew him out in public forum; truth to be told, he didn't know what we was going to say at all.

Once inside, they noticed a soft light burning in the kitchen. Mutt tried to make a beeline for his bedroom, but was stopped short. "Don't even think about it, buster. I'm nowhere near done with you."

Mutt swallowed hard and turned around. He hadn't seen this father quite this fierce and cold since Peru. Indy pointed to one of the chairs in the sitting area, and Mutt reluctantly dragged his boot heels across the room and sank, rebelliously, into the armchair.

"So… I want you to tell me exactly when it happened."

Mutt sighed; _it was gonna be this way, huh?_ "When what happened?" he muttered, sullen, refusing to look at his old man in an attempt to keep his pride intact.

"When you lost your mind tonight." Indy leaned over his son, his big hands gripping the arms of Mutt's chair, and his proximity forcing the young man to look up at him. "Accident with a rental, Junior. Driving using excessive speed with the granddaughter of an old friend, who just happens to be the Sheriff, in the passenger seat. I figure there _had_ to be have been a moment you remember completely losing your goddamned mind!"

Mutt winced. When Mutt squirmed a little, Indy straightened up, reached back and grabbed the room's other armchair and shoved it angrily into place directly in front of his son, so that once Indy sat down, Mutt would have to all but climb over his father to make any kind of an escape. Indiana sat down across from him, hands gripping the arms of the chair. "So… I'm all ears, Junior. What happened?"

Mutt shrugged, with a bit of bravado. "I already told the Sheriff."

Indy leaned into Mutt again, sharply this time, making the kid gasp in surprise. This time his infringement of the boy's personal space was blatant, and he ferociously nailed Mutt to the wall with his eyes. "The Sheriff is_ not_ the one you need to worry about right now, buster, believe me."

Mutt gulped and pressed his back to the chair, trying to keep his nerves under the surface and not doing too good a job.

After Mutt shifted uncomfortably under Indy's ice-cold glare, Indy settled back again and gestured. "Now start talking. And start at the beginning."

So Mutt talked. Indy was impressed with how hard Mutt worked to keep Bonnie's role to a minimum, though Indy was unsure if the reason behind it was chivalry or an unwillingness to allow that he'd been a victim of feminine manipulation. Regardless of the reason, Mutt manfully shouldered the blame himself, and to Indy, that counted for a lot. Indy let him talk, occasionally getting the story going again with some pointed questions when Mutt faltered, and didn't even get angry when Mutt's nerves displayed themselves in a combative tone of voice; Indiana was fair and he was attentive.

At the end, a tuckered out Mutt sat back in his chair, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid, which was the goal Indy had aimed for. There was just something so therapeutic about reciting your own most idiotic, asinine behavior to someone else… it really put your own stupidity out there on the front burner, far better than any scolding from someone else.

Still, Indy felt he needed to do his fatherly duty, and dealt out as stinging a lecture as he could possibly formulate, clearly and succinctly outlining all the parts of the boy's crimes, and all the sensible and adult things Mutt could have done instead of giving in to the surge of testosterone.

"Look, I'm sorry, Dad, but at the time I didn't think I had much choice," the boy returned, uneasily. "I just… I never expected…" Mutt shrugged.

"I never expected it, either, Mutt. I took you at your word. I can't deny it… I'm really disappointed in you."

Those were the words that cracked the shell of his son's heart. Indy watched the kid's attitude change dramatically. He went from cocky, angry, embarrassed, frustrated teenager, with a 'nobody understands!' attitude, to a surprised, then thoroughly shamefaced young man. In relief, Indy finally allowed himself to relax a little. _Okay… I think I finally got through._

Indy rubbed his chin and leaned back. "This isn't just a lecture and grounding, you know that, right? This time, the law's involved."

Mutt swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. I know," he said softly.

Indy glanced at the clock, registering nearly quarter to two in the morning. "Look, it's late, we're both beat, and tomorrow's gonna be a long day. Until we find out what the charges and fine or sentence, or both, are, my handing down any punishment is a waste of time. If you're cooling your heels in the tank for a few days, my grounding you isn't going to matter for shit."

Mutt swallowed hard again, his eyes wide. "D-do you think … I could go to jail?" he asked, trying to not sound as scared as he was beginning to feel.

Indy shrugged sadly. "I don't know, Mutt. I honestly don't. We'll have to see what tomorrow brings. The Sheriff said not to worry about a lawyer until after tomorrow morning's arraignment."

Mutt's bit his lip as his heart hammered. _Lawyer?!_

"Go on, get to bed."

Mutt nodded and dragged his heels to his door. He hesitated there and said over his shoulder, "Tell Mom how sorry I am," before disappearing inside.

Indy sighed and shook his head. He got to his own feet then and headed to his own bedroom door, opened it and saw his wife leaning against the door jamb as he'd known she would be, a few tear streaks on her cheeks. He leaned down and kissed her. "He said to tell you he's sorry."

Silently, Marion put her arms around her husband's neck and just held on tight.

* * *

He'd forgotten how beautiful the sunrises were out here near the mesa. Much like Egypt, to be sure, the same pinks, oranges, tangerines… but the rock formations were so different, and so uniquely _this place_. Indy had always loved it here at dawn. As he sat, cross-legged in the desert grass, he remembered that this was always the time of day he'd come here, mostly so Dad wouldn't know.

Indiana reached out and used his fingers to brush sand out of the crevices of the cuts in the stone. He sat back again, and gazed at it, then reluctantly, down at the slight mound below. The earth had settled, of course, in the last 47 years. He swallowed hard and sagged a little.

Indy had awakened at four in the morning, after no more than 45 minutes or so of restless sleep. Between the excitement at the party, Violet's news and finally Mutt's nonsense, he just was too keyed up to sleep. Marion, too, had trouble relaxing, but he was finally able to get her to a doze by rubbing her back. Yes, he was tired, but she needed rest more than he did. Quietly, he pulled some clothes back on and accepted he was up for the day. As he came out into the living area, he'd seen the neon lights of the 24-hour diner across the parking lot. Rather than make any noise preparing coffee here, he just shrugged into his leather jacket to keep out the desert night's chill and wearily trudged over to get something for breakfast.

Now, an hour later, he was seated in the dust, just as he'd done nearly fifty years before.

_Anna Mary Jones  
1878-1912  
Beloved Wife.  
Cherished Mother.  
You Will Never  
Be Forgotten._

"Mom?" he muttered, resting his forearms on his knees, head hanging. "I could really use some help, here."

The silence of the desert at dawn was almost deafening in its heaviness. Indy honestly didn't know what kind of response he'd hoped for in coming here; God knew this trip was turning up a lot of very strange stuff. But in his weariness he felt great sadness and almost despair.

He had no idea what Mutt was going to face at the arraignment this morning, though even at its worst, it couldn't be a lot more than a very stiff fine and the cost of repairing the rental. Still, it could mean a police record, and the kid didn't need an extra strike against him.

And what about his own situation with Doug Martin? They were going to have to see each other tonight at the reunion dinner. Would he be able to keep his temper, or would he end up just as immature as his young son, slugging it out over boyhood hurts more than 45 years old?

Wearily, Indy drew his knees up and crossed his arms on top of them. He squinted into the distance, and sighed again, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his arms. He was just so damned tired…

Memories swam in his mind, good and bad, fun and mundane.

_Events he'd completely forgotten..._

_Picnics with his parents..._

_His dad patiently teaching him how to shoot with a bow and arrow at the age of six… how to ride a bike… _

_Memories of his mother helping him practice his hated multiplication tables and spelling words… of his mom baking his favorite cookies and have them sitting on the kitchen table with a cold glass of milk, waiting for him every afternoon after school. And then that awful day, the first time the milk and cookies **weren't** there... _

_Both parents dealing with skinned knees and bruised feelings…. _

_His nightmares as a very small boy, and to his surprise remembering that it was his **dad** who often came into the room to comfort him, gently gathering him up into his arms to soothe his fears, lighting a candle and reassuring him there were no monsters under the bed or in the closet...why had he never remembered that before?... _

More and more and more, thoughts and images and snatches of feelings washed over him until he was almost breathless with trying to assimilate them all. It wasn't until they finally slowed that Indy noticed, in shocked surprise, that his face was wet…_what the hell… Good God... tears?!_

Embarrassed, he quickly wiped at his eyes with his sleeves and looked around in apprehension. No, thankfully there was no one –

Then his head came up sharply, and he cocked it to one side, listening intently. Slowly, he got to his feet, his eyes fiercely combing every inch of the desert as far as he could see. Eyes… he could sense them, _feel_ them … _someone was watching him._

After spending a good five minutes scouring the area, Indy finally gave himself a shake and brushed off the seat and legs of his pants. _You're getting antsy in your old age, Jones,_ he scolded himself. Still, while the feeling wasn't as pointed as it was originally, there was a definite uneasiness surrounding him. He would have liked to investigate further, but he glanced at his watch and saw he'd been sitting her for a couple of hours. He needed to get back to get cleaned up and pick up Mutt to go to Herman's office, and he didn't want Marion to worry.

He glanced down at the headstone one more time. "Bye, Mom," he whispered, letting his hand rest gently on the top of the cool stone, then he turned and headed to the car. He opened the driver's side door and hesitated. Glancing around one more time, he saw nothing, and, giving himself a little shake, got into the vehicle, started the engine and drove back toward town.

…and the eyes continued to study his taillights all the way up Sand Flats Road.

* * *

Marion sat on the sofa in the living area with her swollen ankles elevated. Yesterday had been hard on her; she would pay for it today, in more ways than one. She sipped her coffee, leaning back against the pillows she'd carried out from the bedroom, and tried to remain calm and not get her mind too caught up in what this morning's session at the police station would bring.

When she had got up, Indy was gone, but she'd also known he'd got next to nothing for sleep. He had tried to be quiet, but his restlessness kept jolting her awake. Finally, when he got up at four, and she heard the door to the motel room shut not long afterward, she sighed.

At five-thirty, she could relax no longer; Small Jones was beginning to wiggle and that meant she was up for the day. Quietly, Marion managed to get coffee started, munched on some crackers and cheese they'd picked up during the day and kept in the tiny refrigerator here in the room, and then got herself cleaned up and dressed. She glanced at the clock: almost 7:30. At ten minutes or so to eight she'd wake up Mutt and see to it he got a shower and got dressed, and she hoped Indiana would be back soon so he could have something in his stomach before having to sit through such an anxious meeting.

She heard movement on the other side of the wall and was actually grateful to hear Mutt already up and moving around without her having to wake him. Marion rubbed her eyes, trying to think what she could possibly say to her son in reference to this whole mess. While she was proud of how Indy had handled everything the night before, part of her still wanted to wring Mutt's neck for his cavalier attitude toward racing in the desert.

And yet…she was touched. Mutt was protecting Bonnie, Marion knew it, as he took the blame on himself.

Marion was grateful to the designer of these rooms: the bathroom rested between two of the bedrooms, with a connecting door to each. Mutt wouldn't have to deal with any parents before he'd had a chance to really wake up, move around a little, get a shower and do whatever mental flexing he needed to do in order to face what he had to face today. And, to be honest, it meant she had a little more time to think about out how in God's name she was going to deal with her pain in the ass of a son.

Finally at eight o'clock, Mutt's door opened and her son came out; instead of his signature jeans, white t-shirt and motorcycle boots, he was wearing a pair of crisp slacks, a polo shirt, and dress shoes. His hair was still in a blessedly perfect pompadour – too much traditionalism she would NOT be able to handle! – and his face clean-shaven. Her mother's heart ached, though, at the dark stains under his eyes; apparently Mutt hadn't slept well, either.

"Hey."

"Hey," her son answered quietly. He awkwardly glanced at her, flushed and looked away. "Where's…"

"Not sure… he went out around 4:30 this morning, couldn't sleep." At her words, Mutt winced. She handed him her cup. "Would you get me another cup, please? You look like you could use some, too."

Mutt swallowed hard and took her cup, went to the kitchen and refilled it, hesitated, then sighed and filled one for himself. There was no point in putting this off; Mom was gonna have to have her pound of flesh in this deal too, so he might as well get it over with.

He handed her back her cup, and she gestured to the other side of the couch. "Sit."

"Mom, I – "

"Sit."

Marion's voice may have been gentle but it left no room for argument. With a small, almost imperceptible sigh, Mutt lowered himself down and grunted a little when she put her feet up on his lap,effectively trapping him in place.

"So…" she settled into the couch, "You okay?"

He shrugged. She gently pushed at him with her foot. "That's not an answer."

"I'm okay, I guess." He looked at her, shame filling his eyes. "He tell you?"

She figured it would be best to let that continue to be the illusion and not let him know she'd eavesdropped through the whole conversation last night. She nodded.

"He's pretty pissed."

"I think he's more disappointed than angry, honey," she said gently.

Mutt flinched as if she'd smacked him.

Marion carefully swung her feet down and leveraged herself to a sitting position… not an easy feat and getting harder all the time. She set her coffee down and put a hand on his son's knee, looking him in the face. "Mutt… everyone makes mistakes. Everyone. Even really, really dumb ones like this."

_Gee Mom_, Mutt rolled his eyes, _thanks for reminding me._

The look of hurt in his eyes told her it was too soon to lighten the mood. With a small smile, Marion consciously softened the natural edges of her personality and rubbed her son's knee a little more forcefully. "But it's not how we deal with the easy things in life that shows us what we're made of. It's how we recover from stuff like this. You know?"

The young man sat and stared at his coffee cup, working hard to keep his lips from trembling.

"You know as well as I do," she continued, running her fingers in slow circles over Mutt's leg, "you'll face whatever happens this morning the way you always have: like a man, with courage. That's who you are, you couldn't do anything else. That's how you always faced trouble," she smiled gently, her eyes damp. "Ever since you were a little guy. You never, ever ran away from anything you had to face, Mutt... Yes, this could be a tough one, harder than anything you've ever had to deal with before, but you'll do it. And you'll learn from your mistakes."

She reached out a stroked his cheek, and he finally brought his beautiful brown eyes up to meet hers. "I wish you didn't need to learn the hard way quite so often, but …" She shrugged. "Any other way, and you wouldn't be my boy. _Or_ his."

With her son's eyes on her the whole time, Marion leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. _I believe in you_, the action told him. _I will always believe in you. Even when you go and pull stupid, idiot stunts like this one – I believe in you._

Mutt swallowed hard then, his eyes welling. "I'm sorry, Mom… I didn't mean to let you down." His voice cracked, and he wiped at his eyes in frustration.

She nodded. "I know. So learn from it, kiddo. Don't let it happen again and move on."

They heard the car door outside the room, and Mutt bolted to his feet hurrying into the bathroom to wash his face. Indy unlocked the door and came in with a bag of yeasty, sugary-smelling pastries, making Marion's mouth water. He looked at her guiltily. "I know you're trying not to gain too much, but I needed to grab something quick."

"Hand it over, Jones," she said firmly. "I think that's the perfect antidote to a depressing morning."

Relieved, he did so, knowing she'd be thrilled with the dozen assorted donuts and crullers inside… all her favorites. "Is he up?"

She nodded, plucking a cruller from the selection. Healthy eating habits be damned – avoiding sugar and pastry on a day like today was unconstitutional. "Up, shaved and dressed."

"He'd better not be in those damned jeans."

"He's not," she said quietly. Startled, Indy turned to her.

"He's not?" he asked, surprised. Marion shook her head.

_Well I'll be damned… I was sure he'd put on that god-awful outfit… he uses the damned thing like some misbegotten suit of armor. _"Well….good," Indiana said firmly, nodding his head.

Marion studied his face. "We need to let Violet know her famous Navajo remedy must have a shelf life," she said dryly.

"Yeah, I know," Indy sighed. While the lip wasn't so bad, just a small cut, the cheekbone was bruised and beginning to turn purple and green. Luckily, it wasn't a large bruise, but it was still noticeable. He walked to the bathroom door. "You almost finished? I have to shave."

He heard the connecting door to Mutt's room open and close. "Yeah, I'm out. Go ahead."

Half an hour later, Marion watched them drive off and sat down on the couch once again, closing her eyes. She hadn't prayed in a long time, not since last year in Peru… but she found it surprisingly easy when the subject was her son.

--

At five minutes to nine in the morning, Indy and Mutt walked into bedlam. That was the best word to describe it.

Last night, around midnight, the Sheriff's department had looked calm and peaceful, little noise and even less traffic. Today, it was as though the main bullpen had become a hub for the local bus station.

All seven desks were filled with a deputy and a "client," the officer typing up something, talking to someone on the phone or doing some kind of investigative work. At the main desk in the front, the Officer of the Day was presiding over a yelling match between some old guy with fewer teeth than fingers on one hand and another guy who looked a lot like Doug Martin, only younger. The same nose, browline, build and height, the same cold gray eyes. His hair was dark, as Doug's had been years ago, Indy remembered, though now Doug was just as gray as the rest of them.

Mutt looked around and saw Rob Martin, tucked away to the side, standing against a wall, leaning over slightly. Mutt swallowed hard to see the black eye the boy was sporting; a shiner he certainly hadn't had when he left the police station the night before. The kid was also being very protective of his right side. Rob glanced up when the door opened; when he saw it was Mutt, his face burned and he looked away, looking tired and defeated.

"… I don't care what this toothless old drunk says, he can't pin anything on my boy! It's his word against Rob's! And who's gonna believe him?" snarled the other man to the OOD. "Give him a drink or the money for one and he'd say he saw Rock Hudson balling your wife! "

"You calling me a liar, Andy Martin?" demanded the old fellow, astounded.

"Now Bud, just settle down some," soothed the officer. But "Bud" would have none of it.

"Why, you impudent young jackass!" the old man roared, sounding a helluva lot more potent than he appeared.

"SHUT UP!"

Suddenly, there was silence in the room. Standing at the door to his office, Herman Mueller glared out over the room, hands on his hips, and steam practically coming out of his ears. "Now, if you don't keep it civil, I'm going to throw the lot of ya into the lock-up for disturbing the peace. You hear me, Andy?"

"You can't do that!" snarled Andy. The deputies in the room almost groaned as one.

"Now, that there really wasn't a smart answer, Mr. Martin," sighed Officer of the Day Gary Prentiss.

Slowly, Herman walked over to Andy Martin; the closer he got, the greater the height and build differential became apparent. When he was finally no more than a foot from the younger man, Herm stopped."I can't do what, Andy?" asked Herman in a silky tone.

Andy Martin realized he'd overstepped his bounds. He angrily crossed his arms over his chest, but shut up.

"Allright, fellas, suppose you all come on into my office," said Herman calmly. He ushered the fathers and sons into the room. "Andy, you and Rob have a seat over here," he said, pointing to a pair of chairs to the right of his desk. Another two chairs rested on the opposite side. "Indy, you and Henry over there." Herman watched carefully as Rob slowly eased himself into a chair, obviously in some pain. The Sheriff's mouth clenched in a tight, furious line. The glare he had reserved for Mutt and Rob directed itself at Andy Martin for a moment, then he picked up his paperwork. "My deputies have done some checking around and it turns out that young Henry's story checks out, corroborated by a number of different sources."

When Andy started to protest, Herman lifted a finger and warned him into silence with no more than a glare. Andy subsided a moment, but glared daggers at Mutt, who sat back, trying not to look smug. "The bottom line is that I could throw the book at both these boys for speeding and reckless driving, regardless of who started what. You two understand that? That it doesn't matter who your fathers or grandfathers are, and that I could have you both in here on those charges?"

Mutt glanced at Indy, then looked at Dad's old friend and nodded. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

Rob nodded as well, with a nervous glance at his dad.

Herman leaned back in his chair. "Robert, we've had a couple of run-ins with you already with that Bel Air of yours, so it's probably a good thing that it's going to be up on blocks getting repaired for the next few weeks." Herman tipped his head to one side. "You got a job, son?"

Rob swallowed hard and stared down at the floor. "No, sir," he said quietly.

"My boy doesn't need to work. His education is his job!" snorted Andy, belligerently.

Herman raised an eyebrow. "That right? Hm. Well, how's he gonna pay to repair his car? You want him dippin' into his college fund for that?"

Andy hesitated, not knowing how he should respond. Herman nodded, then turned his direction to Mutt.

"And you, Henry... I understand from your family that you _do_ work, but you don't have a whole lot o' scratch set aside. So, how're you gonna pay for your speeding ticket and the damage to that rental car you were driving?"

Unsure of where this was headed, Mutt swallowed hard. "I… I don't know, Sheriff," he admitted quietly.

Herman nodded. "You two surely don't expect your fathers to pay for _your_ mistakes, do you?"

Both boys shifted a bit uncomfortably, and Andy's temper boiled a little. "Get to the point, Sheriff! What's his fine? I've got work to do!"

"Well, have at it, Andy. Go. You're not the one who's facing charges, he is."

"He's underage!"

"Pshaw…" chuckled Herman. "Check with your lawyer, Andy. He's more than 17 and a half; he can be tried as an adult if the law sees fit. And I do. So, I think it's about time both of these young fellas face up to their own mistakes. After all, how else are they gonna learn how to be responsible men?"

Andy went white. "What are you babbling about?"

"Well, here's the thing, Andy," drawled Herman, leaning back in his swivel chair. "I've decided the last thing I really want is to have to pay a deputy to be on duty 24 hours to deal with a prisoner, plus the expense of meals, linen, and all the rest, so I did a little thinkin'. I've been on the phone with a couple of people. Indy, I talked to Bo Stempel, the owner of the rental agency?"

Indy nodded, a little bewildered as to where this was going.

"And I've been on the phone with Charlie Greene." He eyed the two youngsters seriously and the 'good old boy' took a backseat while the serious sheriff came forward. "You boys have a choice. You can either work off your fines and the repairs on your cars by working with Charlie at his garage until your debt is paid, or you can spend the time behind bars. The second choice means a police record for both of you." Both Rob and Mutt grew pretty pale at that pronouncement. "Charlie's gonna take a look at the rental car and see how extensive the damage might be, and Bo's willing to let Charlie's repairs stand for the car." He leaned back. "He's already taken a look at your Bel Air, Rob, and he figures there's about a hundred twenty to a hundred fifty dollars worth of damage. If you boys are willing to accept the responsibility of what you've done and work to make it right, I'm willing to drop all charges."

Mutt sat forward, his eyes wide and filled with hope. Did he hear that right? He could work off the fines in a motorcycle and auto repair shop and the charges would go away?

Indy closed his eyes briefly in relief. _Leave it to Herman to come up with the perfect way to deal with this issue… Marion will be so relieved_…

"The way I see it, these young fellers will end up truly paying for their crime, so to speak; they'll get some good experience with Charlie on how to keep their cars in shape; they'll learn how to be part of a team, cos that's exactly how Charlie trains his crews, and the town gets a financial break. I think the Mayor'll like this one just fine. Well? Whaddya say?"

"I'm in!" Mutt proclaimed, hand up, leaning forward excitedly. "Sheriff, that's…" Mutt didn't know what to say. _Yeah, he did._ "Thank you." He looked at his father, hoping Indy felt the same.

Indy sat back in his seat, deeply grateful to his old friend. At Mutt's hopeful look, he nodded. "Sounds like a good solution," he said thoughtfully.

"It is not!" stormed Andy, getting to his feet and pointing a finger at Herman, who sighed and leaned back in his chair. "No son of mine is going to be a common laborer!"

Herman's eyebrow went up over a pained expression. "Andy, you moron, Charlie Greene's bank account is one helluva lot healthier than yours OR your daddy's. And, as I said, it isn't up to you. It's up to Rob. What do _you_ say, kid?"

Rob looked down at the floor, hesitant, almost hitching himself away from his father, as though he knew what was coming. "Yes, sir, Sheriff. It sounds like a good plan to me," he said quietly. In the blink of an eye, Andy had gripped the kid's shoulder and the boy gasped and flinched, obviously in pain, throwing up practiced hands to protect his face.

But before Andy could start shouting, the Sheriff had come around his desk and had the man slammed up against the back wall of his office, hard enough to make the pictures on the wall dance on their hangers. The Sheriff towered over the younger man, looming and threatening. And no one could have looked more surprised to have someone go to his defense than Rob himself.

"You pummel that boy one more time, Andy Martin, and so help me God I'll have your ass in here for assault," Herman swore fiercely. "You think I'm blind? That kid's been beaten! And I know it's far from the first time!"

"Don't tell me how to discipline my boy, Mueller!" shouted back Andy, struggling to get free.

Herman merely tightened his grip on the man's shirt, and pressed his fist against Andy's throat. The more Andy struggled, the more he cut off his own airway. Finally Andy stopped fighting. When he had the man's full attention again, Herman spoke, his voice low and threatening. "Now I can't prove abuse _this_ time, but I _can_ put a deputy on your tail. And that's exactly what I'm gonna do. As of right now, you are _finished_ makin' this kid your punching bag, asshole!" the Sheriff snarled, his meaty fist clutching a handful of the front of Andy's shirt. "You watch your every step. Every time you try to make a turn without signaling, I'll haul you into traffic court. You accidentally leave the store without paying for something? You'll be arrested for theft. I see a scrap of newsprint on your sidewalk? A 25 dollar fine for littering."

White and shocked, Andy stared into the ice cold eyes of the Sheriff. "You can't do that," he whispered.

"Watch me."

"That's harassment!"

"Prove it. I'd just be upholding the law." Mueller released him and wiped his hands on his pants as though he'd been touching something dirty. He turned back to the boys, his voice stern. "All right, gentlemen. Here's the way it'll go. You both show up at seven o'clock on Monday morning at Greene's Auto Shop. He'll fill you in from there. You mess up, you don't do as you're told, you give Charlie any amount of a hard time, or you so much as look cross-eyed at each other and cause a morale problem at the shop and you'll finish what's left of your time here in my cells. It's time for the two of you to grow up. Are we clear?" When he had received nods from both Mutt and Rob, Herman turned his glare on Andy and Indiana. "Now, you two? Wait outside. I need to speak to my prisoners." Noticing the expression on the fathers' faces at the thought of their sons being 'prisoners,' Herman clarified. "That's what they still are until paperwork gets signed."

Deflated and red-faced, Andy Martin turned and left, stalking right outside the sheriff's station altogether. Indy, instead, walked to the department front door and had a seat in the same chair his son had chosen last night, settling in to wait.

Mutt had sat shocked while the drama had unfolded and when the dust settled he swallowed hard and stared at his hands for a moment. In his mind, Mutt ran through his own session last night with _his_ father, and realized with stunning clarity how lucky he was. The black and blue body seated uncomfortably beside him here in Sheriff Mueller's office could have been his, if he'd been born the son of a different man. Or raised by a different stepfather. If Ox hadn't been there. If his mother hadn't been as strong a person as she was. There were so many places and situations in his life where he'd lucked out in this life, he realized…

His thoughts were cut short when the Sheriff called his attention to the issues at hand.

It didn't take long. Indy watched as both young men had signed some paperwork, and then the Sheriff talked to them pretty seriously. Surrendering himself to the long haul, the elder Jones did some thinking. With the amount of damage and the fines, chances were Mutt would be spending at least a week working for Charlie. That would give him some time to look into this situation with the Munson family. Poor Marion would be left bored to tears in the motel, but he really couldn't see a way out of that, other than sending her home on Tuesday, as they'd originally planned. _Yeah, and pigs might fly, too, _he thought sarcastically. _Marion'll never stand still for that one. So it might be a good idea to find a doctor in town for her to see, just to be on the safe side. Violet could help there…_

While he was still thinking, Herman's office door opened and the two young men came out.

"Just remember, fellas," Herman was saying calmly, but firmly, "this is a fresh chance for both of you."

"Yes, sir," nodded Rob. He tentatively put a hand out to the Sheriff. "I… um…" He hesitated, unsure what to say. Finally he just gratefully shook the man's hand. "Thank you, sir."

"Rob? You know where I live, right?" Herman said calmly.

Startled, Rob's brow furrowed, and he nodded as he looked up at the Sheriff. "Yes, sir."

Herman put a very light, gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, careful not to hurt his bruises. "Son, if you need _anything_, you come on over to my house, doesn't matter what time of the day or night. You understand what I'm sayin'?"

Rob's lip trembled, and he dropped his gaze. "Yes, sir, I do. I … thanks, Sheriff." The boy hurried out the door before he lost control.

Mueller turned to Mutt. "And you, young man."

Mutt swallowed. His insides churned nervously as the Sheriff's hand came to rest on his shoulder as well.

"You gotta learn to develop a backbone when it comes to women. Stop thinking with your Johnson and start using your brain."

And with a wink, Herman turned and walked back into his office shutting the door behind him, leaving Mutt standing there, jaw hanging.

Indy rose from his chair and smiled. "Come on, Sir Galahad," he sighed, guiding his son out the door, "Your mother's waiting."

* * *

…the pendulum dangled from her hand, swinging to and fro in a gentle arc…

...Show me my 'yes'," she asked softly. The pendulum continued in its current arc for several moments. Nodding in satisfaction, she next said softly, "Show me my 'no'." The arc continued for a second or two, then slowed, stilling, and suddenly the pendulum began a circular transit, markedly different from the first movement. It had been so long since she'd used her pendulum, she'd wondered if it would answer her requests, but the connection was obviously still there.

"My thanks be unto you," she said softly. "I ask if the Goddess responds to me."

After a moment of indistinct movement, the pendulum answered her using the chosen 'yes' movement.

"Do I have permission to dowse?"

_**Yes.**_

She nodded once again, then settled in.

"Goddess… where are they? Where are my family? Can I know?"

The pendulum almost seemed to hesitate, and she shook her head in frustration. _Simplify!__ Simplify the questions!__ Yes or no answers!_

"Do any of my family…_that_ family… survive?" she asked softly, deciding that if they didn't, there was no point in pursuing this any further.

The pendulum slowed, and came to a dead stop. Her heart nearly did as well, coldness settling over her. Then, the tiniest movement… then more… her lips trembled as the pendulum offered her 'yes.'

"Have many been killed?" she asked very softly.

_**Yes.**_

"The ones still alive… are they here? Are they nearby?"

_**No.**_

At that, she sat back a moment, closing her eyes. Then she got to her feet and went to the bookcase. She scanned the shelves, then pounced. She pulled the atlas out, opening the page to the large map of the United States.

For nearly an hour, she allowed the pendulum to dowse until she pinpointed a location. Arizona… Sedona!

""Goddess… are they in Arizona? Near Sedona?"

…_**yes**_**.** But the answer had been hesitant.

"… Jones… will he be able to help us?"

Once more, the pendulum slowed to a standstill. To her surprise, the weighted stone began to shift in a perfect figure eight… as if even the Goddess could not answer that one…

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Chapter 6

_**Indiana Jones and the Adventure of Mystic's Cave**_

**Chapter Six Summary**: Indy learns Marion has skills he never dreamed of; Mutt learns that confinement can sometimes have a silver lining; Marion learns just how much Indy wants to keep her safe.

**Setting**: July, 1958, Moab, Utah, post KoTCS

**Characters**: Indy/Marion/Mutt, probably Oxley and a couple of new OCs, applicable to this story; possibility of some recurring OCs as well; the return of some old friends; I'm not yet sure. Like Indy, "I'm making this up as I go along."

**Rating**: T (for language)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Indiana Jones, Marion, Mutt, Oxley or any of the characters and characterizations notable to the Indiana Jones franchise, and have no desire to commit copyright infringement. However, any original characters and the storyline itself ARE mine. :-) Please consider the MacGuffin for this story copyrighted.

Acknowledgement: My greatest thanks, once more, to my Beta. Despite her incredibly busy schedule, she was able to get through this chapter and help me have it ready to be posted before I leave on vacation. Thank you so much; if you readers can breathe, you can thank her... she made me put breathing room into the fight scene! LOL

* * *

_CHAPTER SIX _

Marion enjoyed the feel of sun on her face as Indy pointed the car out of town toward Sand Flats Road.

"You know, I kinda figured I'd be baking this afternoon."

Indy had been concentrating on what he'd read in the case files from the Munson family disappearance. Confused, he figured somewhere he'd missed something in their conversation. "Sorry…. Baking?"

"You know, a little something for Mutt… like a metal file hidden in a cake…" she explained, deadpan.

Indy stared at her, then started laughing, and shook his head.

She smiled, glad to hear him laugh again. He reached and pulled her closer to him on the carseat, leaning over and kissing her hair. "We're in the old west, Marion," Indy teased back. "Out here, we'd tie a rope to the bars on the jail's window and get a horse to pull it out of the wall in order to break him out."

She snuggled in close and sighed. "We're awfully lucky your old friend is as smart as he is," she said softly, her head resting on his shoulder. "That whole plan was ingenious. Not just for Mutt, either."

Indy nodded, thinking of poor young Rob Martin. "You know," he said to her, his voice a little apologetic, and more than a little ashamed of himself, "on the ride over there last night with Herman, all I could think of – at first, anyway – was how hard I was going to come down on the kid for pulling such a stupid-ass stunt."

Marion grinned. "I'm glad the bullwhip stayed in the suitcase then!" she chuckled. When he flushed bright red, she realized she'd hit the nail closer to the head than he found comfortable. Fondly, she stroked his hand. "For crying out loud, Jones… I would have been more worried if you told me you _hadn't_ wanted to wring his neck," she reassured him. "Believe me, it's normal. All parents go through this when their kids do stupid, dopey, terrifying things." She tipped her head to one side. "What changed your mind?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged. "By the time we got to the four corners… right about here, I guess," he observed, gesturing at the stop sign as they rolled to a brief stop then continued on, "I'd calmed down and was trying to figure out how to handle this and get at the real reasons for what had happened. I just… well, I couldn't believe he'd be that reckless, not with Bonnie in the car. There had to be more to the story." He grew serious. "Marion, when I looked at the Martin kid's black eye this morning and saw him trying to move without showing how much it hurt him…and then when Doug's son went off on the boy right there in the office…" he shook his head, his mouth in an angry, tight line. He couldn't finish, though the hand on the steering wheel gripped the leather wrapping more tightly.

_God, how he hates cruelty and injustice_, she thought. _Those thoughts really scared him… seeing how close even good parents can come to that, sometimes…_

Indy sighed. "I mean… they're just kids," he said softly. "They're _supposed_ to make dumb mistakes while they're kids, aren't they? God knows _we_ did. I thought that was what adolescence is supposed to be all about." His sideways glanced at her was so sad.

Marion kissed him. Startled, he turned to her. "What was that for?"

"Just because you're Henry Jones' boy, and not Doug Martin's," she said simply. "And because I love you. I was so proud of you last night. You handled your son exactly the right way, as if you'd been doing this all of his life. You did good, Jones."

He looked at her and managed a small smile, hugging her close to him gently. Marion watched as he shook off the mood and became aware of their surroundings. He pointed into the distance toward a group of houses grouped together and set quite far back from the road.

"That's it?" asked Marion.

Indy nodded. "When I was a kid, there was just the one big clapboard house, the one in the center. And a barn that isn't even on the property anymore," he observed.

"So, were you able to get through much of the case file?" Marion asked as they pulled onto the small road leading to the compound.

"Yes, some, before you two woke up," nodded Indy. "Some things didn't add up, as Herman said…"

_Herman had dropped the box off around lunch time at the motel room. Indy was the only one awake at the time Herman came by; both Mutt and Marion had given in to exhaustion and were dozing. Marion was curled up on Indy's and her bed, while Mutt had conked out on the sitting area couch. _

_Indy had quietly deposited the box with the case file on the small kitchenette table, then gestured to Herman to join him for coffee at the diner across the parking lot._

"_How's Marion holding up?" Herman had asked, as they settled into a booth._

"_A lot better since your solution to our 'little problem,' " smiled Indy. "I can't thank you enough, pal."_

_Herman shrugged. "I meant what I said. It'd be damned useless to lock 'em both up for two weeks, deal with the extra cost of a deputy and everything else that goes along with it, when they could really learn something as a result of their mistakes. They're kids, and kids just make dumb mistakes sometimes."_

"_So… with the case file, what do you think I should focus on first?"_

_Herman shrugged again, this time more helplessly. "Indy, you've got me there. This whole mess is filled with inconsistencies. I mean, on the surface it sure looks as though the whole lot of 'em up and disappeared without a trace, but… well, honestly, I think it'd be best for you to read it yourself and come to your own conclusions." He tossed a small envelope across the booth's table at his friend. As Indy looked in question, he nodded. "Keys to the houses. For all intents and purposes, the whole shebang belongs to Vi now," he said, very softly. "To the best of our knowledge, there is no other family."_

"_Is she still keeping her connection quiet?"_

"_For the moment," nodded Herman. _

"_Good." Herman studied his old friend. Indy hesitated, then shrugged. "I have a feeling that the fewer people who know there __**is **__a connection, the… well, the safer she'll be." Herman's face had grown stony; obviously, he, had crossed that intellectual bridge long before…_

"… so we'll have to judge for ourselves," Indy finished, pulling into the driveway of the old homestead and parking the car. He came around Marion's side and helped her out.

"I'm guessing the police file didn't show any unusual numbers of footprints or fingerprints, or anything like that?" asked Marion, glancing around the grounds.

"That's one of the anomalies," Indy replied, studying the terrain. "There were no footprints… at all." He glanced at her. "Nothing new, anyway… old ones, days old."

Marion turned to him, surprised. "But that's…"

He nodded, an eyebrow raised. "Exactly," he agreed, pushing his fedora back a bit on his head. "Sloppy, if you ask me." He gestured toward the main house and offered a hand to her.

They walked up onto the porch, and Marian suddenly turned, looking into the distance.

"What?" Indy asked, looking around.

"I… I don't know… it just felt…" she shook herself. "Just the creepiness of this place, I guess. Don't mind me, Jones."

Remembering his own feeling of being watched earlier that morning out at the cemetery, Indy said nothing but kept his senses set to 'high' as he unlocked the front door. "You feel anything else like that, Marion, don't keep it to yourself. There're way too many questions and not enough answers around this situation to make me feel comfortable… especially with _you_ here." Before she could retort, he took her hand and led her inside.

They looked around the living room together. Marion glanced at Indy. "Maybe it would be better for us to look separately then compare notes?" she suggested.

"Unh unh," he said firmly. "You're staying with me, lady."

Marion rolled her eyes but was touched at his concern. "I'm not seeing anything particularly out of the ordinary," she said as they looked around the living room.

Indy shook his head and walked over to where the couch was placed, then pointed down. Marion looked and shook her head in amazement. "Carpet marks are different… the couch isn't in the same place."

"Right. But the other furniture is exactly on its indentations. I've shifted our damn couch around enough times for you in the last year to know that when you move one piece, you tend to move coffee tables and end tables, too. Why didn't they?"

Marion nodded, her wits sharpened now that she had an idea of the things to look for. "Move it again, Indy… maybe the couch is hiding something now?"

Indy looked up, startled. "Good God, Marion… why didn't I think of that?" he wondered, and did as she suggested. They both looked closely at the carpet and saw no stains, but…

"Look!" Marion crowed, pointing toward a snag in the nap from the edge of a couch leg. "It's like something hit the couch hard, dragging it along the carpet… right out of alignment!"

Indy nodded, studying the path. "Right into where it's sitting now, almost. As though just a quick shove would line it up again. Good catch, Mrs. Jones."

"Thanks, Dr. Jones."

Nothing else presented itself in the living room and they headed toward the kitchen. Marion studied it. "Everything's been cleaned up."

"Only since the police did their investigation," replied Indy, looking around. "Everything was left on the table."

"What do you mean… like they were in the middle of a meal?"

"Yeah."

Marion nodded and walked around, then stopped as she studied the sink. "What about in the sink?"

"Huh?"

"You said dinner or whatever was left on the table," she said slowly, then turned to look at him. "What about the sink?"

Indy thought back. "Empty."

Marion raised an eyebrow. "I'm no master chef, that's for sure. But why would there be dinner dishes still on the table, but nothing around from _preparing_ dinner? Do you ever see me totally cleaning the kitchen between the moment I take a pan off the stove and _serve_ a meal before I actually sit down to _eat_ it?"

Indy stared at her and grinned again. "Damn, I knew there was a reason I married you, and it wasn't just 'cos you're good in bed."

"Good…because I'll have you know I'm _great_ in bed," she replied loftily.

"Indeed you are," he agreed, kissing her as he walked toward the bedrooms.

There was more, in all of the houses… anomalies that didn't make sense. After an hour and a half of walking through all of the homes and comparing their notes, Indy and Marion once again moved outside toward the car. The heat had risen, and it was a scorcher out there.

"I think the thing that bothers me most is how the rooms that were searched the most methodically were obviously the kids' rooms," observed Indy as he opened Marion's door to allow her to be seated first.

"I know," she agreed, thinking hard as she leaned against the car. "And the most carefully tidied up again. How many kids did Vi say were here?"

"I don't remember for sure… twelve or thirteen, something like that."

"Whew…I'm going to need another shower before dressing for the dinner dance tonight," sighed Marion, fanning herself with her hat.

"Yeah, me, too. I – "

And startled, they suddenly looked at each other. "What was that?" asked Marion very softly.

"Don't know," he mouthed back. The sound had come from behind Marion somewhere around the back of one of the buildings. If he'd been alone, Indy would have sprinted in that direction and angled for a view, but Marion's safety was keeping him from doing it this time. "Get in the car, quick." He did move quickly to try to get himself between her and the general location of the sound.

"Indy, go!"

"No! I'm not leaving you here without protection!" he hissed back fiercely, sort of shoving her into the car then sprinting around the side and starting the engine.

"Damn it, Jones, punch it!" she scolded him. "They'll get away!"

Indy glared at her but obeyed, hitting the gas and spinning out the tires to set up a spray of sand, trying to turn the car to point it toward the back of the farthest building. But to both of their shock, before Indy had even had a chance to turn the Impala completely around, a motorcycle shot out from the back of the house, unseen by them previously, The driver sped out over the desert terrain, eschewing the long access road and aiming straight for the highway over the sand. Even if Indy put the pedal to the metal, there'd be no way to catch up with the rider.

Indy and Marion sat back, breathing hard and staring into the distance.

"Well, Jones… looks like my woman's intuition wasn't a flash in the pan after all," she said dryly, pushing back her dark bangs. "We're sure starting to rattle _somebody's_ cage."

* * *

Mutt listlessly paced the small sitting area of the motel room, glancing out the window every few minutes. After the 200th circuit of the small space, he grunted in frustration and headed toward the kitchen area. He was hungry and thought of walking over to the diner to get a sandwich or something, but hesitated. He'd been warned that if he so much as put his big toe outside the motel room he'd be strung up. And that was from Mom. He could only imagine what Dad'd do. He glanced around, finding finally a piece of fruit, an apple, and gladly grabbed that to munch on.

His eye fell on the box of paperwork from Sheriff Mueller and picked up a folder, the one Dad had most recently set on top. Frowning in concentration, Mutt took it over to the couch and settled in with his apple to read.

Fifteen minutes later, Indy came out of his and Marion's bedroom, looking dapper in a shirt and tie, shaved and combed. He set his suit coat on the back of a kitchen chair and slipped his cufflinks on, watching Mutt's concentration. His eyebrow went up at the reading material. "Sure, the Sheriff has no problem with you reading a case file," he said sarcastically.

"Hey, it was on the table in plain sight," Mutt answered absently, studying the report. He looked up at his father, his brow wrinkled. "I heard some o' the locals beatin' their gums about this at the soda shop yesterday. So they really did just disappear, then?"

Indy hesitated; Herman and Violet had told him and Marion the tale; not Mutt. "Mnh hmm," he nodded. "Herman just asked me to read it to see if anything jumped out at me. Apparently he knows I've seen some weird stuff in my time…"

Mutt nodded. "So, _did_ you guys see anything out there?"

Indy studied his son. "Nothing of major consequence," he replied. He reached for his jacket. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I'll just go over and get a burger."

Indy raised an eyebrow. "Really."

Mutt made a face, and his body sagged. "Oh, man… c'mon, Dad, you didn't really mean I was confined to this place for 48 hours, didja?" he whined.

"Hmm, let's see. I believe my exact words were, 'You're not to leave this room until you have to report to work at Charlie's on Monday morning,' " Indy recited thoughtfully. He raised an eyebrow and gave his son a stern look. "What did you _think_ I meant, Junior?"

"But… but that's brutal!" Mutt protested. "That's 'cruel and unusual punishment!' "

"It ain't supposed to be a picnic, kid. That's why they call it _punishment_," replied his father blandly. "Now, do you want a pizza?"

Mutt was tempted to pout and refuse, but if he did, he'd be damned hungry by Monday morning. "Yeah." It was a grunt.

Indy smiled slightly and reached for the phone, tossing Mutt a phonebook. "Look up the number."

As Indy ordered Mutt's sausage and pepperoni, extra cheese, Marion came out, smoothing her skirt and sighing. "There is no way to look elegant when you're as big as a damned elephant," she grumbled, checking her make-up in her compact.

Indy grinned at her, covering the phone's mouthpiece. "You're gorgeous. A bombshell… a knockout… yeah, a medium pepperoni, sausage and extra cheese. Right…. A queen. A priestess… The Apache Motel, room 128… how much? Okay, thanks." He hung up the phone, dug some money out of his pocket and tossed it to Mutt. "There's enough for the pie and the tip. We'll stop by the diner and grab you a few bottles of Coke before we leave."

"Thanks," Mutt grunted, ungraciously, as he slouched in the armchair in front of the television set. _Thank God this place ain't totally Dullsville… at least there's a TV… _

Marion sighed and walked over to the sofa, fluffing the pillows, straightening the picture behind the couch, and then walking behind her son and smacking the back of his skull, making sure her wedding ring was angled exactly right.

"Ow!" her son yelped, clapping a hand to his throbbing head, looking up at her with eyes filled with hurt indignation. "Wha'd I do?!"

"Oh, so sorry… I didn't see that fat head sitting there," she said dryly. She leaned down, nose to nose with her boy. "So help me, Mutt, if you so much as breathe funny tonight and cause us any more trouble on this trip, your workload at home will make jail time look attractive. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, continuing to rub the back of his head, and trying hard not to smile. He just couldn't take her seriously as threatening, not with that belly.

Indy fought a grin and shook his head. "C'mon, honey, we're gonna be late as it is."

"Be good," she warned Mutt, one last time, as she gathered her bag and gloves.

Mutt finally looked up at her and relaxed. _Let her enjoy tonight_, the little Mutt with the wings and halo encouraged him. "I will," he promised both of them. She smiled then and walked out, with Indy following.

Mutt sighed, got to his feet and changed channels on the TV, then settled in to watch _The Dick Clark Show_… _just_ _36 more hours…_

* * *

"You, too."

"What?" asked Indy, a puzzled look on his face. They were just about to enter the hotel's main ballroom, with sounds of dance music filtering through the big wooden double doors, when Marion made her cryptic statement. " 'Me, too' what?"

"Be good."

"Oh." Indy flushed and chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

He pushed open the door and blinked at the beautiful room. Whoever had been in charge of decorating had done a fabulous job. There were photographs of the school back in 1914, blown up… photos of the students, the teachers. "This is great!" he grinned in delight, escorting Marion inside.

Marion and Indy walked around the room saying hello, laughing as they saw that seating had been arranged by circa 1914 photographs. Marion smiled warmly to see a tall, beanpole-thin fourteen-year-old Henry Jones, Jr. smiling out at her shyly from under an unruly mop of hair from the photograph indicating where their seats were… luckily at a table with Herman ("Good God… that's _Herman_?!") and Violet Mueller, Lilian Franks and Charlie and Estelle Greene.

Lil had taken him aside at one point to gently scold him for coming to blows the night before with "that idiot Doug Martin!" over names she'd been called for years, but also to give him a tender kiss of thanks on his cheek. The tenderness made him blush far more than the scolding and he grinned at her, returning the thanks her by taking her out for a spin on the dance floor.

"Oh, Indy, no!" she'd protested, her face flushed. "You fool, I haven't danced in thirty years!"

"'Bout time then, isn't it?" he'd insisted, gently guiding her through a simple two-step.

The food was great, the drinks were light, and the company superb. Even Doug and Louise kept pretty much to themselves, watching their alcohol intake and restricting their hostility to sending glares over to Indy's table. Herman, actually, had stepped in and spoken to all three of them, warning them that he'd remove both couples at the first sign of trouble. Indy was enjoying himself too much to risk expulsion, and instead refused to be baited or even look at the Martins. And apparently the Martins, too, had got the hint, keeping much to themselves.

"Charlie, I'm so grateful to you," Marion was saying as Indy returned to the table with a cold ginger ale for her and a scotch for himself.

"Whatever for?"

"For giving my errant son an option besides the big house," she said with a sad smile.

Charlie chuckled. "Nonsense, Marion. That was Herman's idea. I'm just glad I could help."

"Well, he's incredibly grateful," offered Indy. "He actually surprised me at your office," he added to Herman.

Herman smiled and shook his head. "Nah. He's basically a good kid… bit of a blowhard, maybe, and a little unfocused, but a really good kid. You guys did a good job with him."

Indy winked Marion. "It was all his mother," he said firmly.

As the lovely evening started to draw to a close, Lil begged off early, mentioning an animal that was on surgical watch that she wanted to check on. Then Charlie and Estelle got up to do a last spin on the dance floor, leaving the Joneses and Muellers together at their table, tired but happy.

"This was a great party, Vi," said Indy honestly. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time. I'm really glad we came."

Violet leaned tiredly up against her husband. "I'm glad everyone seemed to enjoy themselves," she admitted. "But I'll be damned if I'll arrange a 50th!"

Herman tipped his head to one side. "One of my deputies said he saw you two headed out to the Munson farm earlier today," he said as quietly as he could given the music and noise in the room.

Indy and Marion hitched their chairs a little closer. "Yeah. You ever notice anybody watching the place?"

Violet and Herman exchange glances. "No."

Indy mused on that one. So… were they watching the houses? Or watching the Joneses? Considering how he'd felt at the cemetery that morning, he was leaning toward the latter.

"Why?"

"Marion and I both had the sense someone was watching us while we were there, and when we were heading out to the car, sure enough, somebody took off on a motorcycle like a bat outta hell, anxious to avoid us getting a chance to meet."

Herman leaned forward at that one. "Get a look at 'im?"

Indy shrugged. "Kind of hard given the circumstances. Medium height and build I'd say, based on his ranginess on the bike… longish dark hair, like my son's in length…white… that's about it."

Herman looked at Marion for corroboration. She nodded. "The only thing that seemed odd about him was the way he was dressed. He was wearing more traditional type clothes, not usual biker gear. No leather, no boots."

Indy looked at her admiration. "You're really pretty good at this, you know?"

She smiled smugly and settled against him, as he chuckled.

"Did you turn up anything?"

Indy was thoughtful. "Honestly… all kinds of things to indicate that the whole thing is contrived by somebody. There's just too much that doesn't add up." He and Marion went on to quickly and quietly outline their observations. Herman nodded and Violet, pale and strained, studied her fingers.

"How many children were there, Violet?" Indy asked gently.

"Twelve," she said softly. "Indiana… why would someone do this?"

Indy inhaled deeply. "I don't know, Vi. There're too many parts of the puzzle I don't know yet." He looked at her curiously. "Was there anything valuable on the property?"

Vi hesitated a moment, then shook her head. _She's lying,_ Indy thought, disturbed. "Anything you can think of?" he asked gently. "If I don't know all of it, I'm pretty hamstrung when it comes to trying to solve this."

Violet brought up her dark eyes to meet his. "Nothing I can think of," she declared, flatly. Herman looked off across the room, his jaw tight. _What the hell's going on here?_ thought Indy.

Marion squeezed his hand, to indicate it was time to let it go, that they'd talk later, and she stepped in to bring the conversation back to the party and the reason for the get-together. She could see that Vi was strained nearly to breaking point. _Not the time or the place_, she thought to herself.

The party finally broke up near one a.m. As they walked to the car, Indy frowned, studying the pavement. As he handed Marion gently into her seat, he glanced at her. "She was lying," he said softly.

"Right through her teeth," agreed Marion, swinging her legs into the car.

* * *

Sunday morning dawned with the Jones family feeling two-thirds happy and content. Well, dawned probably wasn't the right word; none of them woke much before ten in the morning.

Indy and Marion had had a very good time the night before, slept late Sunday morning and woke feeling fairly rested and ready start thinking and working on the mystery laid before them. The other third of the family was beginning to find confinement to the hotel room downright uncomfortable.

He'd brightened when his father started getting dressed and ready to go out, figuring they'd all head to breakfast. Until his dad asked what he wanted him to pick up for him.

"You mean… only you two are going out for breakfast?"

"No, I mean your mother's been invited to brunch with Mrs. Mueller, and you and I are having eggs to go. Now whaddya want?"

Crestfallen, Mutt realized that Dad meant exactly what he'd said: he was stuck here until Monday morning. He came so close to snarling, "Nothin'!" until he got a look at his mother's face, and grunted out a request for a bacon and egg sandwich. Marion nodded, knowing how he liked it prepared, and he turned on his heel stomping to his own room to seethe in peace.

Indy sighed, and Marion put a hand on his arm. "Patience… you've dealt out the sentence. Part of being a parent is suffering it along with him," she teased him.

"Ain't that the truth," grunted Indy, marching to the suite door to fetch his meal.

An hour later, comfortably full, Indy was thinking and making notes with the case files around him. Mutt was flopped once more on the couch, watching television, bored and trying not to show it to give his father the satisfaction.

_One thing about bein' confined here, you get to noticed patterns… _the boy thought idly as he kept only one eye on the tv and the other watching out their window. _Like that lady who's obviously a nurse. If she goes to work every day, I wonder why she's livin' in a motel? Was it Splitsville between her and her old man, maybe? I mean, she drives some decent wheels, and goes to work. It doesn't make sense that she hasn't got a crib of her own. Oh! Maybe she just moved here and hasn't found anything yet, yeah, that's a possibility… And like that guy… wonder what he's been hanging around for? He's been here since the day after we got here… but I never seen him leavin'. Never seen him talkin' to anybody. Just sitting, watching… _Suddenly Mutt's eyes snapped open wide. Sitting? Watching? Watching who? _Them_? The guy didn't seem to be watching any other room but theirs. He swallowed hard and glanced over at his father, poring over the case files and writing stuff on a legal pad. _Should I say somethin'? Or will Dad think I'm wacked?_

As casually as he could, Mutt got up, stretched and while stretching, he squinted out the window and saw the guy in his car studying them with binoculars. Mutt hoped the curtains were fuzzy enough to keep the guy from noticing he'd seen him. He ambled lazily over to the kitchen table and flopped into the chair opposite. Indy glanced up over the top of his glasses at his son. "Hey, Dad."

"What?"

"Don't look up, and don't make any moves that look like you're surprised," Mutt yawned, stretching.

The hair on the back of Indy's neck raised. "Yeah?" he asked softly, looking back down at the notes. "Why?"

Mutt shrugged. "Because there's a guy watchin' us with hunting glasses from his car across the parkin' lot."

Indy was grateful his back was to the window. He grunted. "You sure?"

"He's been there for … lessee… two days, I think. Only watching our place." Mutt stretched again and put his head down on crossed arms, so that his father's body blocked his face being seen.

In admiration, Indy smiled slightly at his son. "Junior, if this is a set up to get out of being grounded – " One look at Mutt's indignant expression gave Indy his answer. "Okay, then. Good. That confirms some things…"

"Whaddya mean?"

Indy hesitated a moment, then decided that come what may, the kid had to be made aware of what was going on. For his own safety if nothing else. "Yesterday morning, before we went to the sheriff's office I went out to… I went out," he finished, lamely, "and while out I got the feeling I was being watched. Couldn't put my finger on anything, but felt it none the less. Yesterday, while out at the Munson family houses, your mother and felt the same thing, and this time we _**were **_being watched. We saw a guy ride off on a motorcycle, too fast for us to catch. Don't react! Your mother was fine." Indy said sternly, as he saw Mutt start to come up at the news his mother might have been threatened.

Head still down, Mutt seethed. "What the hell is goin' on?" he demanded angrily. "What are we stuck in the middle of?"

Indy casually laid down his pencil and leaned back, as though to stretch out his back muscles and extended his arms. "Dunno yet. But how about you and I see what we can find out?"

Mutt's eyes brightened a little. "I'm with you, Daddio."

"Here's what we'll do…"

The young man in the car tensed suddenly as he saw the door to room 128 open. _Finally…_ he thought to himself, immediately setting down the binoculars. _Jones himself!_ he thought, nodding grimly. He watched as the man ambled over to the diner, then, startled, he turned back to the room's door and saw the kid look out surreptitiously, then slipped out the door, closing it and hurrying around the back of the building. _What the hell?_ Stymied, the guy didn't know which to follow_. Dammit… which do I follow? No time! The kid looked like he was hiding something… _Quickly, he slipped out of the car and hurried around the back of the building, following the younger Jones.

_What in the hell is that kid doingl_? The man watched as it looked like the kid was climbing in one of the motel room's windows; he calculated quickly and it looked like it could be their own room… what the hell was going on? He inched up closer, back flat against the back wall of the motel, gun drawn, and sliding very slowly toward the window, still left open. He arrived at the edge of the window, and was momentarily startled by a flash of light in his eyes, making him blink. Before his eyes could clear, he gasped and cried out as two pairs of hands shot out at him from the window, one set going for his gun hand and the other grabbing the front of his shirt and suit and dragging him in the window.

"Shut the window, quick!'

The watcher was slammed to the tile floor -- the bathroom? -- and he cried out as the back of his head painfully cracked against the tile, and yelped against when a motorcycle booted foot stamped on the forearm of his gun hand. He shook his head to try to clear it. Without effort, the watcher's training surfaced. He quickly whipped his legs up in the relatively small space, wrapping them tightly around the slighter, younger man roughly at his hips. The older, larger man twisted himself hard to the side, swiftly wrenching the kid to the ground. His face registered a feral grin as he felt the kid trapped between his strong legs slam against the bathroom vanity, hard enough to make the kid's teeth rattle. His grim satisfaction was short-lived; he was paid back for it when the older Jones landed a hard kick in his ribs, making him finally release his gun. Jones booted it toward the kid immediately and got behind his quarry.

"Let 'im go!" growled the old man, his big hand clamped firmly in his hair and pulling him off the youngster, taking a couple of tufts of his dark hair with them. The guy's eyes watered, but he hung on, until the kid recovered enough to slam his own head back into the man's face, breaking his nose. Both yelped in pain, but only the watcher was bleeding; the kid merely had an aching head.

"All right! Enough! Stop! I'm a Federal agent!' he cried out, finally giving in as blood poured from his face and he tried to stop the stars from flying around in front of his eyes.

"Yeah, right, Clyde," the younger man grunted, deftly palming the gun and handing off to Jones.

_Jones! Oh, hell, he doubled back…_ The young agent was furious at himself as he realized he'd been duped; the young man struggled to keep his temper and made himself relax. He'd miscalculated; they'd warned him Jones wouldn't be easy… "I _am_ an agent. Go ahead and check; my ID's in my right breast pocket," he declared, keeping one hand in the air and the other sleeve to his nose to keep the blood from flowing all over everything. "Jesus… you broke my damn nose…"

Jones, looking as cold as ice trained the gun on the agent's forehead. "Go ahead, junior. Fish it out."

The boy winced, and tried to stretch his torso a little, then reached in, roughly, and removed the ID. He opened it, frowned, then set his lips and looked at his father, nodding, handing him the ID.

The elder Jones' gun hand didn't waver an inch as he accepted the ID fold. "You okay?" At first the agent thought Dr Jones was talking to him, but realized the older man was checking on his son.

"Yeah. Fine," grunted the kid, stretching himself a little more.

Jones continued to study him for a moment, the gun still trained firmly on the agent's head, then he glanced at the ID and then the agent. "Agent… Bennett." Indy glanced at his son. "Mutt, hand him a towel, before he bleeds all over everything."

"Thanks," muttered the Agent wincing in pain as he gently pressed the towel to his nose. "You'd better give me back my gun, Doctor Jones. You're going to be in a lot of trouble with the authorities if you continue to - "

Mutt chuckled and perched on the edge of the bathtub. "Yeah, right. In your dreams, asshole."

"Mind your manners, Mutt," Jones said easily, gesturing the man to a seat on the "throne" and leaning against the bathroom wall. "So, you gonna start talking? Or do my son and I try to find out what else is as easily breakable as your nose?"

"You wouldn't dare," sneered the man. "Ooof!"

To his utter shock, in a split second, the aging Doctor Jones had landed a lightning-quick side-swiped kick to Bennett's solar plexus, slamming him back into the toilet tank and effectively pushing all the wind out of him. As the younger man gasped for breath, and for recovery from the shock of once again underestimating the old bastard, Mutt's eyes widened in shocked surprise.

"I wouldn't _dare?" _spat Indiana. "You attack my son with no provocation, stalk my wife and scare her, and perform illegal surveillance on me and my family, and you think I wouldn't _dare_?!" Indy's voice had become a snarl by the end of the monologue. "You didn't do a terrific job of reading your dossier on me, then, sonny!"

"Must've flunked surveillance school, too," offered Mutt, leaning his forearms on his knees, "if you and I could make him _that_ fast."

"Yeah, it was sad, Junior. Damned sad."

Bennett wheezed and struggled to get his breath again. "Dr. Jones… you saw … my ID… I'm a Special Intel Agent … with the Central Intelligence Agency – " Bennett started, winced as his nose ached.

"Ain't that an oxymoron?" Mutt asked Indy. Indy's returning smile held no humor.

With a pained look on his face, Bennett sighed and continued to try to gasp in air. "Look… believe it or not… we're on … the same side, Jones."

An eyebrow lifted at that one. "Keep talking," Indy rumbled, uncommitted.

Bennett panted, groaned a moment, then started talking. His speech was still halting with having to haul in air. "Like you, we're interested in the … disappearances that seem to have happened out here. The military aren't claiming anything was going on here. The local sheriff seems to be a very competent law officer, and left no stones unturned, either. When I first saw his methods, I thought we were dealing with a small town dunce, but he really surprised me. A little out of the ordinary, showing you the case file, but – "

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch," Mutt snapped dryly, waving a hand to propel the agent's story forward.

"Anyway, I was assigned to come check it out and report back to the Company what I find so they know what the next step should be." The young man winced again. "Damn… this is still bleeding… I- I think I'd better get to a hospital…"

Indy looked unimpressed. "And?" he prompted inexorably.

Bennett hesitated. "Sir, I realize you have OSS clearance, and that you've run many missions for the government during wartime, but – "

"You did?" Mutt was surprised. "You never told me."

"You never asked," grunted Indy. "What you've said may be all pure as the driven snow, Bennett, but it doesn't begin to explain why you've had us under surveillance, nor why you came after my son, armed and ready to engage!'

Bennett looked at the older man, still rather surprised by the amount of power the old guy harnessed… _all the stories were true. Indiana Jones was unlike any other 'old man' he'd ever seen…_

"I was told to keep an eye on you and your family, sir, because if you got started working on this case…" Bennett closed his eyes, aching. "… Well, the chances were good you'd come up with something."

Mutt grinned and shook his head. "Look at that, Pops… now the Feds even wanna put you on the payroll!"

Indy sent a sour glance across the bathroom to his son, and stood up straight. "Okay, Bennett. I'm going to place a call to an old friend of mine and we'll see just how much of your story checks out. Make any sudden moves, and I'll blow off your kneecap. Do you read me, Agent?"

Bennett nodded, and slowly rose to his feet, keeping the towel pressed to his nose. He began to move, obeying as Indy gestured him to walk toward the living area with the muzzle of the gun. Without taking his eyes off Bennett, Indy fished his wallet out of his pocket and pulled a well-worn, folded note from one of the sections. He handed it to Mutt. "Get the phone over here." Mutt obeyed. "Now, dial this number."

"Who is it?"

"Just dial it." Mutt rolled his eyes, but did as he was told.

As he sank back into the sofa in defeat , Bennett sighed. "Sir, very few are aware of my mission…"

"If there's any truth to this bedtime story you've just spun, this man will either know, or he'll be able to find out."

"Here, it's ringing," said Mutt, handing his father the telephone. Indy quickly palmed the phone and cradled it against his shoulder. "… Good afternoon. This is Colonel Henry Jones, Junior, retired. I need to speak to General Ross. Yes, General Robert Ross."

Bennett's mouth slacked open. _General Ross?!_

"…hello? Bob?... Hi, Bob, Indy… well, I'd be a helluva lot better if I didn't have an Agent bleeding on my motel room carpet…Well, funny you should ask, Bob. His name is Agent James Bennett and he's with the CIA. Yes, I said the CIA… " Indy listened for a moment, set the phone down on the table and got to his feet, manhandled the agent to his feet and hauled him to the kitchen table, slamming him into a chair rather unceremoniously. "Here," Indy said darkly, offering the phone. "He'd like to speak to you."

Swallowing hard, Agent Bennett picked up the phone. "General Ross? This is – " he winced as the General bellowed "Who in the _hell_ authorized this mission?!" into his ear. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation…

* * *

_…the large, wide candle burned with a bright flame inside the cave…without breeze to cause the flame to sputter, the yellow-orange light burned as regularly as tungsten in a bulb… She shuffled her large deck, well-worn on the edges through years of use. She wore a look of intense concentration as she shuffled, and then she stopped, closing her eyes and pressing a hand on either side of the deck. Her hands were steady as she laid out the cards. Her innate discipline nearly faltered as she laid out the array in the traditional Celtic Cross…_

…"_The seat of the issue," she whispered, and gazed at the pasteboard depicting Major Arcana 15, The Devil. Bondage… materialism… the baser instincts… As if she hadn't known that already! But how odd that nearly every time she cast a spread for this, this card nearly always occupied this position. The source of their pain was not of the One, that was plain…_

…"_That which crosses me," she whispered again, looking at pasteboard 11. Her fingers stroked the image of the woman seated holding the sword in one hand and scales in the other. This was new. Justice! Thank the Goddess, Justice was now on their side! _

… "_This is the foundation of the question," she intoned, not surprised to see Key 16, The Tower, in this position. That card often found its way there. One of the two cards in the tarot deck that indicated irrevocable change, this one swift, and explosive, coming from without. Yes, that would certainly describe what happened… an explosive, world-wrenching event that came from totally outside their frame of reference. But the Tower also warns that this event would not be without warning… humbly, she realized that hiding from the world was not dealing with the issues at hand…_

…"_This is behind you," she whispered, studying the card that represented a very new occurrence, something very new in the mix. Key Number 1, the Magician…. Interesting! Was this the arrival of Dr. Indiana Jones? The stories she'd heard of him indicated that he truly could manifest anything he dreamed of, and seemed to have the power to manipulate the elements. But what of Spirit? Could he ground those energies effectively to the Mother to manifest this most needed help?_

…"_This crowns you," she whispered. She swallowed sadly… Judgment, Major Arcana Key 20. She sighed. Were the innocents to pay for the mistakes and poor choices of those who had gone before them? Or should she hope for the best and believe that those who had perpetrated this crime against them would be found and punished?_

…"_This lies before you," she murmured. Key 13, The Hanged Man. Her mouth set in a firm, angry line. This was the card that reminded one of the need to allow the chips to fall where they may, that passiveness, submission, surrender were often needed in order for matters to progress. Some things cannot be rushed. Be patient. These were phrases she'd heard all of her life…and had yet to master in her personality._

… "_Your role in the matter," she said quietly, frowning as she saw the first reversal of the reading. Major Arcana Key 8, Strength, but reversed. Traditionally, the card in this position represented how one felt about oneself and one's role in the issue. She sighed as she realized she did feel weak and powerless. But this card reminded her that she had the strength she needed to survive and make change happen. _

… _She quickly looked to the next card, the card of "Others' view of you in this issue." Her lips were tight as she saw Key 0, The Fool, resting in that position, but also reversed. Unwilling to be spontaneous, take a chance, take risks needed to progress further, or, worse yet, someone who did these things when the situation didn't warrant it. She would need to think about that, because this was how others perceived her. Reckless, perhaps? Is that how she was perceived?_

… "_Your hopes and dreams for this issue," she whispered, her lips trembling. Resting there was Major Arcana Key 17, The Star. Hope, inspiration, serenity… yes, of course she hoped for these things! For everything to work out as her good dreams depicted! No surprises rested in that card._

…_In the final position rested Key 18, the Moon… she frowned. This card warns of hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. Of going through a time of emotional and mental trial. But it can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight, she pondered. This card had always been presented to her at a time she needed to trust her intuition…_

… _She sat back from the spread and gazed blankly in front of her. Trust her intuition… Goddess, help her… but **where** would that intuition take her?_

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
